i stand at the station and wait
for the train to come.
i want to go home
but the hand on my shoulder
reminds me that i can't;
that it's too soon.
and yet
as the train nears
i still feel the familiar tingling
in the soles of my feet
telling me to take that fatal step.
YOU ARE READING
shards
Poetry❝and your words were shards of glittering glass, lodged deeply in my heart❞ a collection of poems and short stories. © 2014 by overcast
