Believing, inverting,
To your Youth,
When all was true
Fog overwhelming,
Lungs pinched with cold,
Twisted and shortness of breath,
Exhale until you can’t
Crevices of your brain hide
Thoughts you never wanted to think again,
Never to process, never to share,
Insides grow and rot and mold,
Moss tickles your ribs
Words have no meaning, just words
The smell, the puke, the drippy noses
All remains
Childish is not negative
People are still selfish
Always running to hide
And hiding to seek
Look back to your Youth
How you acted,
What you cared for,
What you wanted;
Hide no more.