I’ll try to smoke my blues away
fill my lungs with clouds,
because you never did rain.
If nothing else comes into play
I’ll chase the waves,
and guide the grey.
Because all I’ve ever come to know
has broken down,
the same as you.
All if’s and were’s
they grind to be,
that old unspoken philosophy.
No paths around or past or through
stop the inevitable bleeding,
caused by you.
And nothing fails and nothing flees
from purple, paled,
There’s no battle to be simply won
more endless cycles,
A constant loop of grinding teeth
but the vodka ice beneath.
Those seconds climbing, running on
victim to sun.
By Allison Stray, 16, International School Morocco, Morocco
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