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Poetry

and no matter how much you water scorched grass and withering weeds, you will never make a garden re-grow -M.R c.2016

Days // Daze

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by -aesthete-

by -aesthete-

I drift through my days,
seeing people,
seeing places,
seeing things I'll likely forget.

I'm in a perpetual daze,
as if I wasn't really in my own body.
I would float off,
and I would be numb.

I see my friends,
see all these familiar faces.
I jot down notes and math problems,
that I don't even understand.

And I think,
maybe someday,
I'll be free of the haze.

And maybe I'll break the surface,
exist, for once.
I'll be here, and living,
for a short time.