When I was a gasoline-soaked rag, that you threatened to ignite, whenever you erupt, that was when I prayed I'd learn to fly, so I could just runaway and take off towards the skies.
Leaving you behind became a fantasy that seeped into my daydreams, before possessing all of me.
The taste of freedom so sweet and thick upon my tongue, like honey, it was sugary as it was warm and golden.
Some days I could almost reach out and grab the reins, and regain control of my life, even if it were just for a day.
Picture it—my own routine, a job, and my own home, where I could be the me I was always meant to be.
Instead, I'm a shadow of the future I was supposed to know as an adult; the failing sum of all the broken parts of you and I from prior battlegrounds.
I remember a time when I believed that I could be somebody too, that I could rise to the occasion, and achieve success like everyone else.
But I've resigned to this war, this slithering that's seized and besieged me; oh, how it seethes! Under the curse of you and I.
No comments:
Post a Comment