in august
I always feel like time is slipping out of my hands
and I could cry from how less there is to do
how colourless everything is
how bland
but if I go and add that sprinkle of colour
make those plans
book the weekend
I lose it
I am so tired
all the time
you could pay me to spend the night somewhere other than my bed
and I would not do it
I live for those short moments
brief escapes
give me a couple of hours away
I think it's enough
I'll be glad to go home
but in a good way
in a see you soon kind of way
YOU ARE READING
you sold my childhood home in 22 (journal part II)
Poetrymy first love was my hometown I am still grieving her
