Grass 27/11/2018

Xochitl

The emotion of being in this room

Is one of emptiness and recursion

How it churns my stomach

To know one in a million futures is gone

Do these floorboard creaks mean something?

Maybe they're ghosts of futures dying

The ones I had wished to lead

My father's gasping breaths

As if running from negation

He won't see those futures either

His blood in his lap one more time

He's proof that I'm too young to be dying

I still have many futures left

Though that brings no comfort

The world I left this room to see

The plateau I strived for years past

Was just a cliff into negation

Though six wolves saved me that time

They pulled me down to the valley

And left me in the grass

  • Author: Xochitl (Offline Offline)
  • Published: February 23rd, 2020 20:19
  • Comment from author about the poem: I don't remember writing this
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 29
  • Users favorite of this poem: Nafis Light
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