The cool fog outside clings to my skin
like a wetsuit
and the gray clouds rest overhead
sleeping on updrafts of cold air
It's on days like these that I try
not to think of you
and the way you held me under the same sky
only a year ago
Birds fly over my head
black dots in groups of three and four
and I wonder if one of them was you
watching over me.
- 9:46 am
YOU ARE READING
Sweet Nothing
PoetryA small collection of poems written from a dark place in my head.. From the deepest reaches of my soul to the hollow of my heart, on your screen is everything I found the words to express, whether or not it makes any sense at all.
