The way the moon hits the grass,
like a stage light hits her eyes.
The way it's cold and breezy,
like ice skating.
The air is stiff,
new and raw.
Your mind is empty,
chilled and bare.
You are thinking,
thoughts you wouldn't speak.
It is a summer night by the creek.
YOU ARE READING
The World In My Words
PoetryThese are my stories, they are my words and my thoughts and my feelings. It takes time to turn tragedy into art. This is my corrupted world in words. This is a message from the breathless. Can you read between the lines?
