dry air stings my eyes,
a layer of wadded up tissues
rests over the contents of my garbage,
like snow does on the ground
after the night of a flurry,
i'm cold,
but not shaking anymore,
not like i used to be.
YOU ARE READING
here are the words trapped in my head
Poetry"Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words." ~ Robert Frost. Most of my emotions have barely found thoughts, but here are the words I've found so far. ~ p o e t r y b o o k ~
