Your mother wants to be your light, protect you from the shapes outside.
But she casts tall shadows on the walls, and turns a blind eye as her kingdom falls.
If I don't see that bright green dot, I wonder if you're alive or not.
The circles have become your name, cycling daily, always the same.
The shape of my tears don't match yours, they're not as tired, bruised, or sore.
But I do everything I can for you, and just hope that those circles come through.
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 11:20 PM UTC
Your mother wants to be your light, protect you from the shapes outside.
But she casts tall shadows on the walls, and turns a blind eye as her kingdom falls.
If I don't see that bright green dot, I wonder if you're alive or not.
The circles have become your name, cycling daily, always the same.
The shape of my tears don't match yours, they're not as tired, bruised, or sore.
But I do everything I can for you, and just hope that those circles come through.