BY JULIE CHEN
Sometimes when I fall
Into a rut
I’m told to count
my blessings,
But
Although I peer through a rosy glass. I
Tend to see only
the greener grass
Tainted with
raindrops of
Greyish clay
And too bad, ‘cause
The sun seems so far away
The rays
cranked
outwards
Useless too, for
Fading my deep blue blotches of
gloom
And the stars
stuck
in
the
middle
Of day and night
Cannot glitter at their best,
but rather glow
with a
muffled,
dull
restlessness.
And all this time
I just sit in my bed
Sifting through the cracked data
Stashed in my head
And with no
other method
To
Dilute
my
pain
I resort
To
Summon some
Tears again.
