it was the sun that got me
searing hot and bight as fire
it gave no warning to its
burning memories in my mind
laughter and anger, hugs and tears
to look directly at the sun is to blind
yourself, and I am blinded by grief
a hazy lens that clouds everything
I do not see joy in crunching autumn leaves
or catching raindrops on my fingers
I see only grey fog, everywhere
I want to laugh but I cry
or I don’t cry and hate myself
for my lack of feeling
I want to pick flowers again
and not think of their death
I want to write again and not
have my words haunted by loss
it is silly to be scared of a sunrise
but the sun only burns me, now
Nov 8, 2025
Nov 8, 2025 at 1:59 PM UTC
it was the sun that got me
searing hot and bight as fire
it gave no warning to its
burning memories in my mind
laughter and anger, hugs and tears
to look directly at the sun is to blind
yourself, and I am blinded by grief
a hazy lens that clouds everything
I do not see joy in crunching autumn leaves
or catching raindrops on my fingers
I see only grey fog, everywhere
I want to laugh but I cry
or I don’t cry and hate myself
for my lack of feeling
I want to pick flowers again
and not think of their death
I want to write again and not
have my words haunted by loss
it is silly to be scared of a sunrise
but the sun only burns me, now
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