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Mööse Aug 2020
I'm 19 and I never thought I'd make it past my expiration date. I figured something would've thrown me out by now.

My head's in disbelief that we're still blowing out the candles and waking to reality, I truly believe that my existence is scorning me.

What do you say, when they ask
"where do you see yourself at 20?" When you never thought you'd grow that old? How do you take a hold of living?
Living, living, living..

I really wish I knew what do with my life,
Now that it's not a short coming
All my friends, see they had plans,
And so did I, but mine weren't of growing old or running wild. I never thought I'd be anything more than a child.
I don't know what kept me here..

So here I am, hope in hand as I try to understand what to do. What to do with the years I was given- when you never thought you'd grow that old to take a hold of living, to take a hold of living
When you never
Thought
You'd
Grow
That old.
To take
A hold of
L I v I n g.


And Now im finally living,

finally living..


Finally

living
Consideration never felt so comforting in the eyes of the weary and beaten down.
Mööse Aug 2020
Will you leave your clothes in the middle of the hallway, so when I walk down the path I'll stumble where you once stood, shedding off the warmth I once held so close?

I find the messes in the kitchen where we tried our hand at baking, only to find our bellies full from laughter? Will you leave a handprint of flour on the table-so when I clean up after, I can still feel your presence in the room?

I've dancing up and down this house that's vacant, in rooms where sheets hang above when you where here, standing right here.

Will you remain a ghost to these walls? Will I come to learn you are gone without me? Let me sleep beside you once more, as long as you are still here come morning.

The floors creak with each call, the sound of ache fills this home we grew. Days seem to lose time, it's a quite that consumes.
Give me a sign, a knock on the door.

Let "I'm home" ring through and through

In this emptiness of memories.
Ache isn't something to tread on lightly.

— The End —