Moods are waves and my heart is their shore,
They wash me over, eroding dirt off the ore.
Contemplating, clueless as to whether I stand at the core;
Emotionally speaking, I’m a wreck, I’m a whore.

Begging for attention I drift offshore;
With no direction, The last Dinosaur.
She be the light pointing nowhere,
I guess it just feels right I want her so bad.

She came back from the past, wasn’t supposed to.
First-time loves are zombies, that’s what they do :
Nor dead nor alive, forgotten, archived,
Yet ever present in the fabric of the mind, lurking at you.

______

Show your support

Clapping shows how much you appreciated Alexandre Plennevaux’s story.