Home: A Midsummer Melancholic Tale

I.// orange (barren) orchards and warm (yet my insides lay frozen) sunshine.

I woke up at 7.23am,

as the soft, warm sunshine fell on my cold, parched skin.

I drank some water,

yet my tongue felt like the barren orange orchards that my father left.

I looked at my (distorted) reflection in the (broken) mirror,

quite representative of my scrambled, messy state.

I looked out of the window,

as the distant family (orange) orchards lay barren and parched,

just like my entrails.

II.// cereal with (sour) milk and a (melancholic) midsummer afternoon.

I went to the kitchen, and made myself some cereal with milk,

the cereal was stale, and the milk was sour,

yet my numb tastebuds couldn't tell.

I looked around the house,

as it reeked of death and trauma,

and each thing reminded me,

of my father and my stillborn daughter.

//9.37am, 16/02/2021//

it has been around 6 years, since my father left us in the middle of nowhere, to start his new family, yet each day, I am reminded of my trauma-filled childhood, as my body is still adjusting to the shift from a nurturing ground to the graveyard of my stillborn daughter.

every day I hold onto the remains of those I've lost, as I lose my mind a little every day.