the rusty swings sway in the wind,
reminiscing on what once was before she sinned,
the little girl which used to be scared to sit,
scared of falling to the ground, punching back when her body hit,
now that little girl is grown,
she sits on those swings like its a thrown,
because everything is luxury when you're eight,
the rusty swings rest in the sun,
whilst that once little girl runs along,
she brings her friends, or so she thinks,
they sit ,they laugh, until they sink,
until they start to give her betraying stares,
until she realises they never cared,
she then sits alone on the swings,
because everything is hard when you're thirteen,
the rusty swings have been removed now,
all the little children have grown up,
now they just sit in the darkness.
wishing they could go back to sitting on the swings.
