The Upcoming Old Days Worries Me


I will be your shelter.

I will be your storm.

Everything. We. Me. Life. Death. Alone. I can’t see the end of the tunnel without that mountain rising like a phenomenal skyscraper.

Ashes. Window. Skin. Sag. Sad. I will be by your side.

Waiting. Looking. Dust. Heat. Sun. Whatever happens, baby I’m yours.

Forever. Always. Together. Afraid. I want to scream and shout to cheat tears gushing down my concrete face.

Sick. Numb. Useless. Hope. Vague. Somehow, I blame my brain for being so dumb.

Ignore. Focus. Control. Understand. I just want to give that smiling balloon the freedom it deserves.

Happiness. Smiling. Peace. Mind. Float. Control the eternal glass of sands that take its final voyage beyond Pluto.

Storm. Shiver. Baby. Best. Try. Please. Love. Future brings something where I sit above the hopes and dreams of the nation.

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