not only is the farm abandoned
but all the sheep are dead.
the sugarplums dance on their graves
instead of twirling in my head.
smiles are nonexistent
nobody has a clue
of the million tons of *******
others may be going through.
my brain is being clouded
by all your negative words;
i’ve stopped saying hello to him
despite how much it hurts.
if he is the train
then i am strapped to the tracks,
begging myself to push forward
and never look back.
but my heart gives in,
it’s an endless cycle
of each time promising myself
i won’t reconcile.
but one look at his eyes
or golden curly hair,
and i’ve already started writing him
words beyond compare.
so if he is the farmer
then i am the sheep,
abandoned and killed
for my lack of sleep.