Untitled #4

We go on

wrapped in the arms of sunshine

as the wind plays with our hair

a melody from the same

four keys. The same old yellow keys

of a piano plays.

So deafeningly loud in my mind that

everything

in my mind is broken it.

Our laughter, an illusion 

that never quite makes it to our eyes.

We go on.

A postcard, a snapshot, of a brown van 

that we are inside of.

The motion, jolting us,

back to the things we run from.

Hollow.

But aren't we the best of friends?

The sky smudges into 

the cusp of the horizon

we don't know where it is,

or how to get there.

But,

we go... on. 

Reviews

[empty]

like your last stanza. very nicely write