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daphne Dec 2020
dandelions grow
through concrete, cracking the stone
their will was strongest
an observation from summer
daphne Dec 2020
when the first cool winds of autumn blow over the city
Waking it up from its summer haze
as the first leaves on the trees turn brown
And the sharp light turns soft in the
latest hour
i sit on the subway, heading south
with the sunset in my eyes
My heart has been a heavy burden for some time now
I carry it everywhere I go
From sultry city bars to my quiet bedroom at night
it will not release me until the day I die

And when the first snowflakes fall in November, I stretch out my hand into the cold air to catch them and
watch them melt as they touch my skin
and so?
What has become of me?
I imagine that I am one of them
Falling until I melt against the ground
To they take the fall out of necessity or because
They’re aching to touch my skin?
And my tears don’t fall like they used to
i feel my heart is an ocean running dry
and every word that I pour out onto this paper
Is underwhelming, and somehow not mine
daphne Nov 2020
fever burning in my mind
Which road leads me home?
i lost something I can not find
and forgot which way I came from

the crowded streets bleed out at night
and the rains cleans the mess in the morning
A wool is tied around my eyes
And the devil is singing his word of warning

on every other corner lives a fallen god
In others, are the monsters
Painting with blood on the ***** facade
Images of dread and wonder

a nightmare, laughters, faces in smoke
When I awoke my house was on fire
from under my bed, they laugh as I choke
And lay in place my funeral pyre

I got on that train because I thought I could leave
For a second, I lingered in the doorway
but escaping past tenses has ways to deceive
and I numbed out the signals of warning

The fever has burned a hole in my mind
And blurred out the vision of home
What is lost has been lost and I can not find
The direction that I came from
daphne Nov 2020
Further than ever
A promise to break
A river lit silver
A heart left to ache
To sink or to swim
To run or to stay
I’ll sleep through November
Awake me in May
call me. x.
daphne Nov 2020
the flowers that grow here,
have their roots in despair
For life is deaths only true heir

— The End —