Nola_hall

Four more months till the lines of work-

The coding of my life in word form-

Molds into a steel cage.

The cage's walls lined with a maze of puzzles,

Answers tucked between my ears.

Is it a bad idea to cry?

To cry at the sign of light's fleeting moments?

They end as soon as you wipe them away,

fogginess spilling in a soliciting manner over

To solitude's arena.

The matches that burn,

It's hard to find a balance

Between continuity

And the every growing weight that

Tirelessly

Chips the paint away.

Wait–no,

A vehicle of travel that’s exhaust

Is exhausting to clean up.

To scrub from my floors,

My hills,

My caves.

It is a challenge no one has attempted

I listen to each word of my country,

Each act that fights to get rid of everyone I care for.

Each word that our government cleverly boasts

About how they belong to us.

How can I love

Those who creep through the dark

With their cloak of painful truths?

Their intentions were not love,

And only skitter away