How I miss the sunny days,
when gray skies are all I've seen in weeks.
It's like the world has turned its back,
more than willing to play for keeps.
As the smooth jazz plays through the speakers,
I can't help but remember
that little coffee shop uptown
where I'd sit in late September.
I'll be back there before long,
just have to keep my head up.
Either way, it won't be long
before the bluebirds sing once more.
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...
