Another thing written on my red typewriter.

something i wrote on my typewriter

“There was a way it always seemed. whilst standing in front of the silver lake you could feel yourself breathe. pink lungs, heaving and heavy. The polluted air breathed in then out again. You barely know grandparents or the brother of your mum. and his children. it all seems puzzling and complicated. There is a horizon you will never see. There are parts of the story, your story that were written , then scribbled out. All that is left to do is to laugh loud, too loud and embarrass the person you are with with your too loud laughing. The city you are in reminds you of nightmares and your hair is all knotted. The tree outside your bedroom window has seen too much and it tells you to find a way to un-see all the bad things. In the summer you swim in the silver lake. And you will find a way to forget”