Feeling like a crumpled piece of paper,
wet and muddy,
left in a corner of an empty house.
Cracked windows, dusty floors.
Someone puked on the tiles.
When I think of what is lost now,
nausea also rises in me.
Delirium, vertigo and an overflowing melancholy.
With tears too wet for words,
while words are helpless to express
this thing which really can’t be shared.
But there is hope,
I am told and I believe it.
A sun and a light breeze which will blow
through these hollow inner rooms,
breathing new life, straightening what is crumpled,
and healing what is sick.