the truth is missing.
a whole town looks
for traces of your
orange red brown hair
after you vanished into
another plane.
the truth is questionable.
you don't know where you are
or how you breathe
or where your flesh and muscle and bones
and wounds have washed away.
was it the other side
or this side?
the truth is stuck.
you push every wall of thin air
and you find that it
is endless.
you shouldn't want to leave.
you can't.
Aug 18, 2017
Aug 18, 2017 at 6:56 AM UTC
the truth is missing.
a whole town looks
for traces of your
orange red brown hair
after you vanished into
another plane.
the truth is questionable.
you don't know where you are
or how you breathe
or where your flesh and muscle and bones
and wounds have washed away.
was it the other side
or this side?
the truth is stuck.
you push every wall of thin air
and you find that it
is endless.
you shouldn't want to leave.
you can't.
Request permission to use this poem