Your feet are so cold you might as well be walking knee deep in the snow.
Your heart is stone.
The statue only comes to life when she wants something in return.
Tell me again, blue.
Just how confused are you?
The scarab beetles imbed themselves on my chest like a tomb.
Like death.
I rejected countless times.
I told you I didn't want you.
How does it feel?
YOU ARE READING
The Swallows and the Sunsets
PoetryI tend to find meanings in things not intended to have one.
