She placed her guitar and smiled at me,
But looked away as she starts to sing,
For that one moment she’s all I want to see,
As music rang out with every plucked string,
Why? She sang out loud,
Where? She asked to all,
My silly grin came out more than allowed,
But deep down I wonder how deep for him she’d fall,
Then came the instrumental part,
Where music is set but words you define,
I found in her the beauty similar to her art,
But here I am, drawing a chalk line,
Why? I ask myself,
When? I shout out loud,
I’ll remove my heart and put it on my shelf,
Is it possible to feel without?
Author's Note: inspired by a song sang by a friend, our resident poet here as well, Pak Han Mei. please, don't misunderstand aight?
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Now playing: Secondhand Serenade - Half Alive
via FoxyTunes
Labels: Seasons of September
stoned @ 6:21 AM
______________________________
Listen...
Drip,
From my slit wrist,
My life.
Drip,
From my sad eyes,
My dreams.
Flow,
Gone; my life.
Shattered; my dreams.
-
Kai Teoh, Seasons of September