Cutting into an onion, I will make you cry.
Peeling away the parts you can’t eat,
will remind you of the memories,
those things not easily erased,
Getting to the middle, I will make you know.
No matter how much you break apart the whole,
the essence remains intact,
Reaching the center, I will make you crumble.
Wrapping your hand around the core,
trying to cover the pain,
Discarding the rest, I will make you realize.
Walking into the shadow of the day,
behind the closed door,