The roads been quiet for a while now, the cars don't want to talk,
The pavement is lonely somehow, there's always somewhere else to walk;
The sky misses the clouds, but doesn't want the sun to go away,
The rain missed the ground, but the ground never asks it to stay.
My head does not miss this ache, and I'd never wish it to return,
Some things were made to break, and, maybe, it's just my turn.
Myself, I'm neither here nor there, my thoughts are slightly askew,
Not that anyone really cares, they don't have to pretend they do.
YOU ARE READING
An Amalgamation of Words
PoetryI'm almost as bad at writing descriptions as I am at writing poems, but at least I tried. Sharing my inner turmoil, one poorly worded sentence at a time.
