how do you feel talking not to me for nine months and more?
and it is not even some bloody metaphor
a part of me is always empty
for all the things you never tell me,
shout at me once and you can feel the echo

do you hear how much i want to fly away?
do you know i'm not coming home?
mother, do you even know i exist?

ps: when i scribble this piece a week ago, i didn't even know there's something called the mother's day. it doesn't mean anything to me now. when i hear about any 'day', i saw archies' greeting card gallery store. perhaps, in my mental revolt, there is a desire to hide my weaknesses. enough ramble... mother, i know i don't need to trust the government but do i need to be so high?!



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