October wind,
Chills my bone,
Until the marrow,
Turns like stone.
November strides,
Into view,
Disrupting me,
And chills you, too.
December freezes,
Through my ribs,
And because of you,
It chills me, too.
Through and through,
Now there’s nothing left,
Except the damage,
That you put me through.
YOU ARE READING
Damage Done
PoetryI wrote this poem a few years ago in eighth grade. It's a simple poem about my father (no daddy issues, really).
