A sad thought, a deflated yellow balloon blowing through the wind.
A sad thought is a blue prayer mat soaked in tears.
Isolated in a crowd of neurons and stranded in a stream of grey brain matter.
Just one more step.
To return to the house of thy father with the weight of last year holding me down heavier than my chunky sandal.
To drift in a sea of eyes and beards not knowing if I belong.
Suffocating in my scarf, struggling to swallow.
All alone in a safe house waiting for the bomb to drop.
There are no eyes on me yet.
He turns his head, entering thy house.
Leaving me outside in the rain.