Why is it That when it rains All I look for is a closed window For the pleasure of opening The creaky door That everyone said should be closed For the pleasure of getting that rusty smell on my chapped fingers getting mixed with the petrichor For the pleasure of letting the aroma of bake out the window
living with a past screeches echoing through the serene halls a spectre like future dimensionless driving through the meadow not paying respects spewing out someones words someones thoughts moving as someone else it scares
when the wind hushes and the leaves wavers, when the earth exhales as loud as my thoughts , when the jogger run past unnoticed, when the same song is played in a loop , when my hand pauses above the keys it scares me
my roots they go deep ,past the red river through the brown sand traipsing along another crazy root my roots they run so deep past the point of revival past the point of control past the face of mine my roots going so deep it scares me
I think I get Why the crazy man said The death of ME is not The death of me Its the Death of me I just dont get Why he laughed so loud ''Your ignorance and my reluctance'' He'd called the poem
The repugnant taste of sympathy made her face cringe He never saw her perfect imperfections He only saw the what she was robbed off And she could not scream And she could not sing