butterflies beating their wings in your throat
a desert on your tongue
drowning outside of water
colder than the Arctic
hotter than the Caribbean
shaky as a two-leg chair
hands as fidgety as an ant
stomach turning like a windmill
legs as sturdy as jelly
heart beating out of your chest
flashbacks born to life
drunk on memories.
********
song -- "Hopeless Wanderer," Mumford & Sons
YOU ARE READING
My View from the Mount
PoetryA really close friend (she's the older sister I never had) once told me that I don't need to be established to consider myself a writer. So here I am. I'm a writer, but I'm not a professional. I'm just a girl with a pen who speaks through a notebook...
