sweet, bronze
the medal of him
it reminds me
the race I could never begin
reach, and even to win
the one band
with guitar and hearts
he loves to sing
where the playlist
is always on looping
cold January
white fluff on his shoulder
in the land of the rising sun
the firework was fun and none
through him
all the hazy, blurry, and worry
I can see the temple of grace
in my cheap windbreaker
other than it
he knows my cat
and my little brother
they both were brat and bad
my mother is a crying mess
my father was admitted
the eldest is driving
our living room become less bright
the hanging pot has wilted
you heard me sobbing
but you whisper nothing nothing nothing, thrice
and I nodded...
starting to have faith
,u12