I'm never coming home
I don't know who they are, nor do they know anything about the me of the present
How would we communicate, what figure of speech am I suppose to use
I don't care about the destination, nor about the journey
What's the point of coming
It's not even a real 'reunion'
Maybe they'll be glad but this is still bizarre after ages
I won't commit to being born broken
Neither will I find contact nor have these worries be outspoken
YOU ARE READING
Poe
PoetryJust some thoughts I have expressed through writing and occasionally also simply brainstorming to see what comes. Figuring out plots and stories I fantasise and try progressing them any way possible.
