This nothingness about me;
This empty hole in my throat...
Like a dusty, old worn path;
Seems to be,
A never ending road.
I am sore...
Tired, and sick.
Working for poor;
Only to be told,
Tell me, "I'm not old,
enough."
Too young to,
Understand.
No wisdom for a smaller hand.
I sit, in still silence...
Thoughts dancing,
Between my ears.
What to say.
How to say it.
Explain what i feel,
the way i'm feeling it...
Even though,
I don't know:
Exactly...
What I'm feeling.
Is it sadness?
Pain for these, tears?
Hurt that makes them?
Or is it called, fear...
Of a dream collector?
Filing my dreams...
Looking back on these;
Tell me, are they future memories?
Pain for what it means.
Does he like me?
Am i ready?
Is it over?
Will she let me?
Why cry for appearance;
In a dream?
Am i at all,
Any kind of, worthy?
For anything...
I sit in a cloud of, raining thoughts...
I have tears, smeared,
On my face.
Wiping a tear with the, opposite hand;
On the opposite, side,
Of my face...
Remembering...
Thinking...
Caring hands took away,
Those, shedded pains.
I lean back...
In my chair.
Thoughts and whispers:
Underneathe my hair.
I cry...
I weep...
Whatever you want to call it.
It's there;
Like it usually is.
I don't know why, it makes me,
Free, these tears...
But it's here, sitting with me.
Right between,
My ears. |
Submission Name: Sitting with me
