How long?
How long has it been?
Spring is coming
No, no it isn't
Yes
It's still winter here
It's still winter in my heart
But the sun is shining
The snow won't melt
It will never melt, just pile over
Someday it will
No it won't
Then you will have been left behind by everyone
Forsaken even by spring
Even my own mind seems to be taunting me these days
YOU ARE READING
debris
Poetryde·bris (n.): Scattered remains of something broken or destroyed. A collection of poems written in her darkest hours.
