• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 11
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Some people have it lucky,
the world is sharp and angular,
the shapes make sense.
I live through a frame,
behind windows
and without,
the colours run together,
distant people
become formless figures.
Some people have it worse,
their sight goes out,
the shapes mean nothing,
the eyes
might as well be shut.
I sometimes wish I could paint,
all the things I see through these windows,
every detail,
the intricate lines of the world.
I am lucky though,
my eyes open in the morning
and the light goes in.