Home, away from home.

The stool at the chai shop will be full of dirt, the chai,
A bit too sweet to your liking;
You’ll knock the doors to 43 shops before finding the change to your 500 bucks,
Standing still is like descending stairs, two at a time,
Walking,falling down the stairs;
Every tear is a relic for the open drain
And every second, is a memory lost;
The snakes would rather stay under the covers, as companions they’re quite shy,
And the dogs crave for human touch;
The winds love you and the winds hate you,
They bring the aroma of your mom’s kitchen
And they take away his scent.



I've been writing poetry since I was a kid and my poetry is without fail a description of things that matter, to me. I pretend to not like love poetry. I have an insane love for popcorn!

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