itting at the table on a Tuesday drawn in grayscale in the first week of a brand new year. Thinking how unlikely that despite the war outside me and inside me I am still here. The ink stains all the same whether someone comes or goes and if this is what remains well then it must be what I chose. And now the sunlight's seeping in, threatening to wake the walls. Saying, “You are so big. You are so small.”
Ricochet from thumb to thumb while watching the weeks pass. I have torn my corners. I have loved from skin to glass. I have prayed for patience like an enemy of time and I have begged for freedom from the meter in my mind. But the ink stains all the same whether someone comes or goes and if this is what remains well then it must be what I chose. And now the sunlight's seeping in, threatening to wake the walls. Saying, “You are so big. You are so small.”
I can feel the floor. It is cold against my cheek. That is how I know that it is separate from me. And now the sunlight's seeping in, threatening to wake the walls. Saying, “You are so big. You are so small.” And now the sunlight's seeping in, threatening to wake the walls. Saying, “You are so big. You are so small.”
Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa. |
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