By Rosie Lu
empty
is my mind,
a bottomless ocean of terror
when i think of my future.
stumbling on the edge of fourteen
i shakily lift my foot
one step forward,
and i fall
down,
down,
down,
thud.
all is silent in the vast unknown.
time smirks, gloating over its power
to it, pineapples, pigeons, people
are all the same.
limply falling
deeper,
deeper,
deeper,
into old age,
until there is nowhere left to fall
it is not as though
the sun will set forever,
or wrinkles will suddenly appear by my eyes.
yet when i’m another year older, another year wiser
another year farther from when i was a child
will i wish for it to all be a dream?