Apparently I’m too old, an adult now, don’t have a lot of time to be a child.

You’re busy and reality’s got a strong hold. You’re forgetting how the wind feels running through your hair, how the sun shine gives the warmest embrace, how we’d light fires in the dark just to see the sparks.

But if we could get lost, let loose, just one more time, the world wouldn’t seem so bleak.

And moving on, standing alone, wouldn’t feel so painful- it wouldn’t be so stressful.

We’re changing.

It’s scary.

And I just need you to stand beside me, to hold my hand, to remind me that if we change it’s for the better… Most of the time…

We’ll end up in a better place… I hope.

Playing House

A seething soul on tiled floors,
White and black and cold.
The lasting quiver of slamming doors
Set by Loathing, uncontrolled.
Panic hiding behind doors and in drawers,
Folded in by triggered pains.
Daring are Love and sweet Remorse,
Playing house, and making claims.
Spite, in humour, opens window’s veils.
Frustration rips them down;
Shredding, ripping, and tearing, he wails,
My mind a damaged crown.