Stroke
I'd kill to smell burnt toast, some phantom scent of release. Your hands still scream in frustration but my mind is already long gone.
I'll sit in my cell recounting to myself days of youth long past. An 11 year old son that died before he lived, but we don't speak of that matter (ever).
Tucked between all the other traumas in the attic, he reigns; his subjects keep the domain neat and tidy. His sister would have told him such sugary sweet tales, of princes and dragons and kings- if she weren't dead, too.
I'd kill to smell burnt toast, taste copper, see the light. But I've a coward's heart in my chest, too worn to act in any way but anger and bitterness.
Please, tell me again how wrong I am. Each lesson brings about renewed resolutions to leave this world you've built for two(you). One day the cup will flow over and you'll be left with all that you've designed.
And yes, there are reasons to cry over spilled milk.
I'll sit in my cell recounting to myself days of youth long past. An 11 year old son that died before he lived, but we don't speak of that matter (ever).
Tucked between all the other traumas in the attic, he reigns; his subjects keep the domain neat and tidy. His sister would have told him such sugary sweet tales, of princes and dragons and kings- if she weren't dead, too.
I'd kill to smell burnt toast, taste copper, see the light. But I've a coward's heart in my chest, too worn to act in any way but anger and bitterness.
Please, tell me again how wrong I am. Each lesson brings about renewed resolutions to leave this world you've built for two(you). One day the cup will flow over and you'll be left with all that you've designed.
And yes, there are reasons to cry over spilled milk.