It's not the first time you're here, son
Words bleeding from my mouth
Coloured red like the stains on my clothes
Forcing angry tears to stay on the inside.
You have to give us names, son
Hands squeezing my shoulders
But there's no warmth in your voice
You say we're concerned, but I'm not your child.
I'm leaking memories
They're leaving my body like a spring flood
Grownups wearing forced smiles
Their faces look like deflated balloons.
1 comment:
Your words sound way too familiar for comfort. Not in a bad way, but in a "I've been there too," way. I'm sorry, I don't have any great words or quotes to share. I hope you're somewhere safe now.
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