a poem by Stella Marie Viebrock, English
We used to dance at prom nights,
Now we don’t even see any kind of daylight.
People joke about the all-white,
But tomorrow I am the first in flight,
Waiting to extinguish our torchlight.
We lost our Neverland.
They say He might have been the best you ever had,
But I just can’t understand,
How you slowly remove your hand.
Have I screwed us up?
Did I leave you
In this overcrowded club?
Have I messed us up?
They scream yes,
In our most beloved pub
Have I screwed us up?
I yell at the airport.
At the terminal I wait for my pick-up.
At the window seat in the plane,
On the way home
I lost the hand.
Your passenger seat alone,
As I conquer all the city lights.
They talk growing up, talk jobs and rings,
About all their sweet nothings.
In shiny silverware and shining mirrors,
Hoping they would one day become something.
I know you wouldn’t call,
So I took the effort to dismiss our story.
Your ghost is shattered in bodies,
Admired at privileged parties.
You conquer me in all my sonnets,
Street says you revel in glory.
Oh, how poetic the frame,
You say All I do is long for fame,
When you don’t even want a shared name.
And may the carrier pigeons come and bring my grave,
I just lock them doors,
As I bury everything under our feet,
Run to my prison on the stake you left behind,
And run into the woods,
On the way home we both felt alone.