Image by Comfrea from Pixabay

The silence of the night screams in my ear,
“Why are you awake in your deep slumber?”
“I wasn’t counting the infinite sheep,
I was being a protagonist of my own life.
I am — weirdly normal, apathetically emotional,
walking dead towards a calm storm.

There was a kid; like a bird trapped in an open cage.
He could fly whenever he want,
with his wings of indifference that he used to flaunt.
I grabbed his hand, rushed to open ground,
looked at his eyes when I turned around.

I glanced at the kid, gazed at the gale,
I knew that yearning, I knew that rage
Up until then, it was clearly smoky,
I was saving myself from me.”

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