Vacation

I see the sky bleeding

Electric crimson

My feet in the sand

Salty hair and wet hands

I need a long break 

From the crowned prison warden

I need to come up for air

I think I'm drowning

I want to ride the highway

And feel the wind on my face

And meet the clouds through a glass

Thousand feet up in a craft

Empty excitement

And botched holiday plans

Let's go to places we have

Never been before, And

Watch the mountains sit up

Like paintings on an easel

Hurling vibrant shades of blue

At our dull gray mornings

But there's a sickly crown

That's being passed around

You won't know where it's headed

Until you feel it heavy on your head

So don't be the infinity drop of the next wave

That ends up being the one to eulogize

The ones who gave their lives for a cause 

No one else was willing to fight for. 

-Neha Bhende