it's thick and makes my head hurt
torn between sleeping it off knowing that never works
repeating feels like peeling slowly
the burning never gets easier
i can see myself spiraling
nobody should catch me
why do i hate spinning but don't put my feet down

i’m staring at this blank page again
wondering what to write
when the words lock themselves away
and i am left with nothing but myself
how lonely that is
how e m p t y i am
my fingers twitch as if to reach
for something
my feet itch to run towards a better life
but every morning
with the rise of the sun
i don the same garb
walk the same walk
until i am drowning in the repetitiveness of it all
until i wonder why i’m even here
“there must be more to this life“
i think
and watch everyone move on without me
at a speed so great
i am coughing up dust
coughing up the lies i told myself
so that i could remain a shriveled thing
instead of swimming towards the light
but the light hurts
it blinds my eyes
and pulls sobs from little nooks and crannies
i thought were vacant

Esther L. Krenzin

the repetitive days grow tiring
so extremely uninspiring
as i remember the times when things were so simple
where we had smiles so big you saw dimples
the dusty chalk left on the porch stairs
the house's unfinished repairs
the creak of the wooden doors
the kitchen's tiled floors
the chipped paint on the walls
and none of it bothered me at all
my mind held no worries
my heart was never in a hurry
oh, to go back to the days
my teary eyes look back in a gaze,
looking back on the shadow that it once was
i want my adrenaline rushing from running too fast
i want the green stained knees from sliding on the grass
i want to taste the salty tears on my cheeks from scraping my knees
i want the calluses from climbing sticky trees
i want the brush burn from going down the static-feeling slide
even if the bruises and scratches make me cry
i would go back in a heartbeat
because those days were oh so sweet
being a kid on Grape Street

©L.F.

The day doesn't start

When the first bird starts to sing

When warm rays crawl into the room through thin curtains,

When the breeze changes its direction,

When the coffeeshop around the corner spreads sweet smell into my window,

When the alarm goes off or the telephone rings,

When the first train leaves the station,

When fancy dressed people rush wherever they go,

When the golden chariot rides the crystal bridge,

When the primal deity dies and gives way to a new born Christ,

When the bell tolls for a Sunday mass,

When the mullah cries out from his ivory tower,

When everybody gathers around the Market place,

No, the day only starts

When you open your eyes.