…and not enough air in this room and
the windows filmed with frost. The
child’s face chewed off by rats. The
moment where love no longer matters.
Do you find it without looking?
The river, maybe, at sunset if there
were any sun today. A bridge. Traffic.
A language with a thousand different
ways to describe grey as an emotion.
Mouth filled with the taste of gasoline,
of road salt. The mother as she explains
how none of this was her fault.
Sounds like me. Sounds like you.
Can’t crucify everyone, but you
have to at least try.
No comments:
Post a Comment