Twenty Twenty was meant to be my year.
You know, the one where I worked it all out...
Today I woke up happy
Yesterday I didn't get sad...
This bench is oh so old now
It's seen so many years...
I am a faulty fuse on an
expired mortar...
My tired eyes seek refuge among an abyss of...
My pencil traces the answers but my being is...
Sun set
clouds jogging...
October is freely bleeding
from our veins...
How blooming looks the
dying bloom for undying...
you
speak of...
I saw the moon,
next to her grave...
You caught me unaware-
lured me in with your honey-dipped...
Don't want to explain, our children, why they lack
I tire of pulling the knives off their back...