her eyes circle the room
as if she's
looking for someplace to
rest her mind.
she's looking for herself
in a room full of people
that are as sober
as the wind is fickle.
she stumbles and winces.
the rain outside
pleads to be let in, starved,
hugging the glass for warmth.
but she's only seventeen
and she was taught not to
open a window
when it's cold outside
and thundering.
she's scared of storms,
scared of feeling,
drunk off emotion,
reeling on an empty high.
That girl is love.
The boy is the storm.
you're the fly on the wall
In a room made of glass.
a heart drunk off a crush
that's crushing her,
She tracks the room
listens to the lightening
strike silence
inside her heart is racing.
No storm lasts forever.
But this one does.
YOU ARE READING
As The Sun Falls
PoetrySo do I. A series of poems that transcend as far as the universe and all it's stars to the bottom of the ocean where every breath is held preciously.
