I can't wait for winter
when snow tumbles from the sky.
Softly, it dances 'round my skin.
The window where I linger,
once I've journeyed back inside,
teasing, it gently pulls me in.
Sometimes I feel bitter
that I can't seem to decide
whether I'll stay awake or sleep will win.
Yet the little flakes of silver
and the excuses they provide,
exhausted, I somehow still give in.
YOU ARE READING
Ghostwriter
PoetryLiving with mental illness can oftentimes trap one within the inner maze of their mind. In that place, dreams, fears, wishes, and regrets all compile together to create a new world far from the one we physically exist in. At times, it becomes easy t...
