His lips were soothing relief to my pain,
Like Tom-Tom mixed with cold water.
His wordings now echoes to my empty head, the rhythm pleasing to the ears that I never bothered to check the lyrics.
Now I'm a broken record, with different type of scares,
My back tells the tales of dead men,
My soul shattered into pieces unpickable,
Yet I sit here watching children play,
Hoping a passer-by comes along to dust me off rather than drop peanuts into my torn heart.
Take me back to yesterday where the word love doesn't exist.
I sit here, at the same spot I was shackled, that same place where my tears filled the ground till plants could grow no more,
Now I remember the stories mama told me;
Her most common axiom being 'Wolf in sheep clothing',
I won't be hearing the noise of the paramedics anytime soon,
Still, I rest by the stilt of the broken ridges of hope,
Watching the avocet as they swam around in their community unbothered,
I smile as my whole being trudge through the magnificent traffic of sands...
The voices from distance do not seem familiar.
I hear grandma singing in her melodious voice to me,
I've been devoured and I bleed not of innocence,
While the cent of father's erratic brother still linger on.
Take me back to yesterday where sorrow has no name.
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