April
April april stories
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esperanza079
esperanza079 A wannabe poet and tortured artist
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
4/7/20

quarantine is really getting to me

April

April-blue rain,

April-blue rain, a watercolor in the late afternoon,

April-blue rain, a watercolor in the late afternoon, tapping to the rhythm of spring.

The golden sunlight enters my window weeping through emerald leaves.

A rainbow,

A rainbow, broken by the curtain lace,

A rainbow, broken by the curtain lace, trembles on my kitchen floor.

I hold the strength of a withered flower,

I hold the strength of a withered flower, my pained face painted in a cold indifference.

I,

I, a poet of no importance,

I, a poet of no importance, continue to write my dull dreams and ornate phrases.

Who am I writing to?

Who am I living for?

Forget-me-nots,

Forget-me-nots, blossoming in the empty garden of my chest,

Forget-me-nots, blossoming in the empty garden of my chest, escape from my lips.

I am at a loss for words.

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