like parking a car slowly
then remembering
you don't drive.
there are things that come for me
but don't retrieve me.
my parents have never been able to
know what is troubling me.
but didn't help me,
so God is dead
and we have killed him.
i have half of my childhood in my hand
and there is nothing but waiting,
eyes stuck wide open for its retreat,
patient with fearful breathing, observed.
what it is is to be trapped
into a regression of myself
dull and useless and later
i become the one who yells,
whom you ignore.
certainly, it is not important.
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