7:43 am
fog consumes
a number of buildings
to where all that's left is
a blurry, light gray.
it rushes into my body,
just on the brink of being cool,
swallowing me from the inside out,
but what keeps me
away from that fate
is the blasting music
in my mind,
pulling me away from this reality.
YOU ARE READING
empyrean
Poetrya little poem for the sky with each day that passes by. - 964 in poetry
