My truck with pain
could collide with relief
so suddenly in order
for me to draw
what I have always yearned.
In a chalked-out circle
I would make huge eyes
with drooping dots
to complete this vicious circle of life.
They tell me you grieve in my hiding
so that I don’t lose what you have
built to keep my suffering burning.
You will never pull courage
to cry in the face of your made-up mirth.
You sing at the top of your voice
all those songs without the faintest
idea that they were happy tunes
wrapped in sad songs.