Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
Yellow like the sickness in your skin.
Your skin, once so soft under my shaking hands
This wood, it would flee if it could,
Become cold and run far away like you did from me.
One path was a gravel mess,
Spurts of crusty undergrowth poking through.
The other was much the same.
My eyes wandered as far as they could into the distance
But I knew that no matter my choice
You wouldn't be waiting at the end of my journey
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And I couldn't care less.
(13 February 2015)
YOU ARE READING
An Aged, Bitter Collection of Poetry, Prose, & Papers
PoetryThere once was a sad girl, not that long ago, in a kingdom not so far away. Perhaps a glance into her somber scribbles might help you on your quest to scribble for yourself.
