All I could think of was anger, sweeping the snow off in rage.
My eyes locked in a darkened cage, The light unable to see.
Slash.
Yet I didn't care.
Slash.
There it goes again.
Slash.
I finally feel it bleeding.
As I look at my arm for the first time this time, The ice covering the windshield has cut me.
To what is multiple cuts, for I cannot feel my lower arm.
Yet I must keep sweeping the snow, out of pure frustration.
Sweep.
Sweep.
BURN.
It hits me like a winter storm, lowering my hand.
The cut now burns, part of my arm numb.
This isn't my interpretation of fun.
Come.
Finally I'll retreat, anger defeat.
~
If I wanted to, If I wanted to have superpowers?
Could I have them?
I just have to try.
Even if they aren't real.
I'll find a way.
----
YOU ARE READING
~Poem Book~
PoetryLike a Diary, This Book will be, Through my head blows a breeze, it makes the leaves freeze, Orange leaves falling down, This is my story, and I won't let it drown.
