It's the cold feeling,
Whilst the sun rises,
Waking up to a cold beginning,
With every drop of its blood,
Oozing from the flesh of the cloud,
The tear scalding and all is lost.
Its voice is a rumble,
That shakes your form,
With a light so fast,
It bleeds your eyes,
But the pleasure it gives you,
Curls your toes,
From the incessant freezing,
It provides.
The rain,
Is the fear,
Locked in your house,
Feeding off the anxiety
you strategically plant,
It's the small black dot,
On your white wedding dress,
And its there for all the world to see.
YOU ARE READING
To The Introverts
PoetryAt the unforgiving eyes of the world, I lay here with a pen in hand, To write about the secrets I keep, The untold stories of an introvert.
