elise.writer

No.
Spring is just another array of pain.
So don't tell me that
The flowers and birds and bees scatter any hope across the land.
Because the truth is,
Spring is just handcrafted from the same silky sorrow as before,

I thought anger would feel like a wildfire
Red hot and scorching
Tearing through this slender frame
Flames licking the crisp air.
I thought the cry would be sharp and short
Piercing and defined
Smooth and steady. Like poison,

A pink dew drop in bloom
petals curling towards the open sun
away the heavy clouds zoom
wrenching hearts from winter gloom

Creak open the door and run
toeing into the squishy brown ground
gallop through the mud, free and fun

and i'm sitting here,
gnawing my nails to thin pink brittle
twisting a stolen colored pencil with each finger,
one at a time, muscles twitching
to reach some distant mountain scape from my dreams