the cold sighs. tired of itself.
she absorbs the familiar distance. slowly sipping its broken resolve. brewing time in batches. as bitter as she sees fit to serve them.
watching... that lost and failing art. scraping for colors at the back of her proverbial closet.
the pageant of confession. too much law school in the poetry. the circumstance of winter. doves in the veins. wolves in the skin.
too many roads. not enough places. such is our nature. architects of doubt. soldiers of temptation.
the war is quietly lost. the conflict is eternal.
it's farther simply because it's been too long. but it grows closer the more i travel the path.
she leans into the snow. letting it support her weight. she follows the fickle of the road. unconcerned with where it will take her.
Post a Comment