I open my eyes and smell a December mist
Which leaves me questioning why I exist
In between the crevices lies little worries
I contemplate my lifestyle as I tell these stories
My memory becomes foggy
As I recollect my past transgressions
I now understand that some people
are placed in our lives
to teach us a lesson
I slam my morals face down
As I prepare to give them a refresh
At a standstill I am
More or less
This December mist brings back old memories
Even if I live my life to the fullest
I will never be free
-K
YOU ARE READING
Melancholy Dreams
PoetryMy poetry is an extension of myself. Every time I write, I stain the page with portions of my thoughts and emotions. Pieces of my former self lie in the stanzas. What is left is the current version of myself. This is my story, more or less.
