Tickled by the wind
Running to steal the first laugh,
The eyes, childish and wet.
I wish that scraped knees would still be running
And not to paint colourless answers.
My apathy that corrodes like rust,
You built me a wall of rejection and disappointment.
The first warmth heats the fingers
That press on the eardrums,
The palms to the temples.
Only a memory
Of tired ankles,
The suicidal grip
Of those Why's.
What Are You Willing to Lose:
Tickled by the wind Running to steal the first laugh, The eyes, childish and wet. I wish that scraped knees would still be running And not to paint colourless answers. My apathy that corrodes like rust, You built me a wall of rejection and disappointment. The first warmth heats the fingers That press on the eardrums, The palms to the temples. Only a memory Of tired ankles, The suicidal grip Of those Why's.