tw: sh reference
my body prepares itself for
the dead of winter creeping over the hills,
bracing itself for the bite of razor sleet,
chills slithering around my wrist's circumference,
gliding against my shivering flesh.
whispers of the wind murmur their sharp-edged secrets
a hair's breadth from the tips of my numbing ears.
my heart's rhythm stutters and my eyes' ponds begin to freeze,
but it's not fair that as i begin to realize
i am just a few steps away from everlasting hibernation,
i still can't get to sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Dregs
PoetryDregs: the most worthless part or parts of something. This is a collection of poetry I've written over the last few years as I try to figure out who I am, what I want, and how to get it without killing myself in the process. I'll put trigger warning...
