Easter is around the corner.
Everything could be pink and blue—
Or a Van Dyck painting,
Somber, subdued, pulling me through.
I gather eggs and paper bunnies,
Screaming beneath my breathless strain.
Easter is never sunny—
It always arrives with rain.
Yet Easter hums with promise,
A whisper of days to come.
It melts the scars and sutures—
A pill that numbs what's numb.
It fills me with light and trembling,
A sway between joy and ache.
The future leans in, disassembling
The weight I can no longer take.
Aug 7, 2025
Aug 7, 2025 at 12:43 AM UTC
Easter is around the corner.
Everything could be pink and blue—
Or a Van Dyck painting,
Somber, subdued, pulling me through.
I gather eggs and paper bunnies,
Screaming beneath my breathless strain.
Easter is never sunny—
It always arrives with rain.
Yet Easter hums with promise,
A whisper of days to come.
It melts the scars and sutures—
A pill that numbs what's numb.
It fills me with light and trembling,
A sway between joy and ache.
The future leans in, disassembling
The weight I can no longer take.
