Grief
I hate ticking clocks. The tapping keeps going. Every second, time and time again. This will be minutes, from minutes to hours. Days fly by, don't go aside. Days go to weeks, sunrays fade. Weeks are months, I stay standing. Months are years, all seasons fade.
Every year, that glandular. Certain days of the year, am I completely ready for a moment. Then sit through it, a reminder is that no, what makes me realize: I can raise my voice, but you don't hear me, so much grief. I miss you every day, gone is my laugh.
Many loved ones lost in a year, it remains a sensitive string. Not to be expressed in words, inside I'm going to be completely pieces. With the game of these words, I'm trying to nip my mind. I don't know myself like that, and disappear into music.
