I don't want it anymore,
I won't knock at the door,
Instead I'll just sit and play pretend,
As I have done before,
Because here it's nice and warm,
Outside reality is like a storm,
And the rain has been sufficient,
So I've had enough for a long while,
Go and tell your tales,
But don't tell them to me,
I don't want to hear it,
Having a hard time to believe it,
If you give me a break,
I could catch up with things I need,
Which I can't get from anyone at all.
14/8/17
YOU ARE READING
Escaping Sorrow
PoetryA project where I attempt to overcome the absence of an unknown man supposed to shape a father - whatever that is. Putting this out here is a massive step for me because up to a point of last year I hardly even allowed myself to write down the word...
