Seventy or seventeen, that’s the real question
Feeling stuck amidst the two
Constantly in-between
Home and where I’ll be
Draw a blank stare, I’m lost in routine
I let the silent space fill the air
Everything is a blur, it’s white noise
Not a trace or an ounce to care
I hear Mother’s voice distant but disguised by thunder
Father lingers but never enough to wonder
My brother asks who I used to be
Trying to find an answer, I silenced my memories
Love knocks at my door, waiting to be let in
But trust is something left unopened
Buried beneath my skin
Wondering, should I or should I not let it in
Having a grasp but it constantly slips
Calloused hands, affecting my grip
Wandering into an undesirable place
Could be temporary, but can’t be erased
Comments