You promise yourself a lot of things
But everlasting youth couldn’t be attained
What is innocence? Simply an age of five-to-fifteen?
What are tissues; simply items to mop your cheeks away, clean
of evidence of destruction and self-despair.
How do people swill in their sorrows
and pop those spilling out with a pill
When I can hardly breathe, living with myself.
It’s short and sweet, I think, keeping my head down,
my hoodie flipped up, eyes on the sidewalk and hands in my pockets
Life is short and sweet, so I’ll just live like how I want to.
But there is this pain,
that screams to me in the comfort of darkness;
I want to hide under it, for it’s
warm. The dark is warm,
Things don’t work anymore. They simply do not, hence
I stop the machine.