My broken memories,
question mark for a brain,
searching for the positives,
to dull that pain.
A smile with a history,
that sole purpose to me remains
a mystery.
A small post-it note
ticks in my mind
that brash uncertainty
of the remaining time.
The irony of the contrasts,
how a laugh can be muffled
in the dark,
the differences between the two
can seem so stark.
It's the thinking which gets me,
that whining,
suppressing my ability to breath.
That constant edge point mind mentality
after a little nudge,
I fear that it won't take much.
But if I keep walking
maybe I'll stay on the right road
and my brain will hold the possibility,
to maybe grow old?
If I can feel the wind
raw against my face,
at least I know I'm still here,
breathing and living
in this place.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Think I've read 17 poems and this is the first positive one. Ur so talented. Quit writing that morbid cr*p lol