Ginger, a loner.

I am from the roots, ginger and a loner.

As a broom, the true story wipes the dust from the coffin.

You twist the knife.

(Man squints his eyes, immediately closes his book and wipes his façade)

You ruined me.

I felt like sand,

and betrayed,

and federal,

and risen,

You deserve ripe corn,
inhuman that you are.

But I walked, I squinted my eyes seeking for gold

inland,

I deserve it.

I am Ginger,

and I felt so alone,

the walls were grey come Sundays.

I don't know about those words,

what to expect,

or what is a sun,

I don't know.

I hesitated,

and

what is a sun?

I don't know anymore.

I hugged the air,

merry are the ones that felt like feathers

when a building was collapsing above them.