Bipolar by dardenitaaa

Nothing is ever singular anymore.
the coin always has its two faces:

for the sixteen-year old high school girl
gazing dreamily at a wishing fountain,
chanting idiosyncracies for her first love;

for the forty-three year old beggar woman
staring blankly at an empty tin can,
babbling incoherencies for her last hope;

You, me, we all toss our coins everyday.
Nothing happens,
except for that brief moment
where we embrace the suddenness;
the thin veil overlapping
between innocence, ignorance.

In the rising and falling,
we wonder why:
that only in midair can our souls
truly sigh.


One response »

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s