paperbackhead
12.26.2009
II
You'd think the cold of winter
would keep this pain vague and empty
Like after you left
My fingers turn blue
black
digging into the snow where they etch
Deep grooves
Like you etched on the walls of my skull
so that I'd never forget
No comments:
Post a Comment
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment