you picked up the roadmap for
the 17th time, honestly,
he said, it's almost as if you want
to be slaughtered.
the city air is stifling and it's
time to head on, you gather
up your books and seashells
from the grass.
dark skies, from beginning to end,
he's beginning to see how this one
carries out between the two of you.
gazing up at the pressed
lavender bouquet,
that you made him when you were six,
and is still tucked in the corner
of the windshield, he
knows that he could
never do this without you.
it must end where it started, he
mumbles to himself, switches
on the radio and drowns the
small space in a familiar tune.
you lay down now to sleep,
you're in the corner of his eye,
this was meant to be, he thinks,
and so he starts to drive.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoetryJust a small collection of a few of my works. Most of it is inspired by Supernatural and Sam and Dean. Richard Siken is also an inspiration for me.
