Children of summer
A little child died this morning.
I slashed through the cars,
Ripped out the engine and buried it,
(C'est la vie) deep, deep… ever so steep.
I wasn't born this happy.
Just like these stars which fall into circles.
I was too alone, to become a bullet point.
So I staged a full stop.
Words shuttered through my chest,
(blood) became gold like my bones.
Now it's the end of winter
with her bracingly slow numbness.
The latest fashion-
stripped to the sunny, funny, lovely
Summer… so sweet.