My feet drag as I tumble my way,
Down the cold concrete sidewalk,
Cars roar past me,
Offering me heat,
If only for a second,
My hands are crammed into my pockets,
My feet are like ice blocks,
My stomach is empty and it tells me so,
My face is red,
Burningly red,
There's no snow,
But the wind pierces like daggers,
Cutting striaght past my clothes,
I drag myself further up the street,
Passing shops and resturaunts,
Their windowy eyes vacant and dead,
Their doors latched tightly,
I wonder which of them I'll call home tonight,
Then down the block,
Movement,
A clang of a bell,
A shop is open,
I lumber my way,
Quick as I can,
Towards a lit doorway,
A man stands outside it,
Speaking lowly with a woman,
They turn as I stumble just before the doorway,
"Need a place to stay?"
YOU ARE READING
Blissful Incompetence
PoetryThis will be my poem dump. All my crappy poems and shitty thoughts all compressed into one place. Aren't you just so lucky to read them? For real though, most of this will be personal-esque poems and writings and most will probably be going over so...
