They say you cannot control
what happens to you, but
you can control how you react
to it.
But things don't work out
the way we sit up all
night envisioning our
lives to be, you know?
Even if it feels like
you are constantly in a
state of void, as if you are
the wick of the flame, burning
away as time goes on because
you have lost any power, any
way to ignite any hope inside
of you, to grow or to embrace
the idea that the stars will collide
once more and constellations
will form on your palms.
Your heart aches and races inside
your chest, even if you whisper
to it please calm down, everything
will be okay.
How long till I see okay floating
past through the clouds and
raining down upon me?
How long till my hands don't
tremble at the thought of you?
Or how the darkest notes on
the piano will never be as
loud or as empty as you can be?
How?
YOU ARE READING
shades of red
Poetrywhen you have too many thorns, all you can do is paint them in red, because, maybe then, they will look like petals [sequel to shades of blue]
