christina bernina

What about the skin on my face?

Does it define the way I behave?

Do I define my race?

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Can you recall when it was fun,

Playing Cowboys and Indians,

Outdoors in a blazing sun?

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The skies are stormy,

My heart is dead,

Now, lay me down,

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I parallel parked in her heart and mad

The most perfect performance ever. Saw her

Eyes glisten and made my fingers become windshield

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The river cries too

Sometimes softly,

Other times loudly,

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Sometimes I catch myself deep in my mind

Where my thoughts try to run wild

Untamed

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Dishonest as a promise

Stillness in the wind

Heartbreaking excitement

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Watching an astral movement

Living with vapid beings

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I used to be innocent

simple

plain even.

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Even the sun in the morning

Don’t say the same story everyday

And the moon as you see it, may not glow the same

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