sᴇʟғᴛɪᴛʟᴇᴅ | ˡᶦᵗᵉʳᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ

march of the wind

11.09.17

dedicated to noreen

The cold winter night being replaced by the summer breeze

But I can still feel the vague blades of wind

The night going down by the day

But things don't seem to be better

The moon crept in and I was still in the box

My face illuminated by the subtle light of a kerosene lamp

I was holding the march of the wind

Placed it against my wrist

Pressed it down,

And crimson water dribbled down from it's scar

And suddenly I was in a pool of thought

Drowning and it seems that I can't come back to the shore