A poem about a strange sort of seasonal depressive disorder. Probably non-sense. |
There was a period of our lives when we were not the type to unpack. We just couldn’t face forever right then and there, we drove with the windows down, sun in our hair. We just couldn’t sleep at night with so many stars above, wrapped up in summer, in music, in love. We held so very much love, we were not able to see what we lack. Our skin bore our sweat, our faces bore our smiles, we were free We were so happy the bills couldn’t seem to matter much, we wrapped ourselves up in our touch. Flowers sprang up when our feet touched the ground, the birds grew louder, the sun hotter, the sound. Nothing more for us to hold, heaven was all that we could see The harshness of winter brought the dull to our open eyes We took all that we could bare, we trudged into one another’s arms, our breath made fog in the air. The world was silent and then we were too, we became unaware of each other’s time, nothing to do If Omission is a sin than our house of bricks was made up of lies I cannot see him, he cannot see me no matter how he tries I would speculate as to him but not and never we, he would speculate of another trying to bed me. We enjoyed our meals and showers at different times of day, our bed a place of sex without play We were not aware of the blinding of our eyes It reached a dark brink at the beginning of the spring An angry sad morning taken without coffee or sleep, the birds were singing instead of cars will beep Lighter jackets, and light shoes, the sky was very blue, not grey so we poured out all of our blues He and I became a person, no longer just a thing |