hands hold a fragile teacup between numb fingertips,
warmth soaking through skin.
the frigid air outside whistles and whines and the trees shake,
reluctant and rejecting of the coming winter.
the train in the distance echoes mournfully and longingly,
crying out for something it'll never reach.
YOU ARE READING
the remains
Poetryspontaneous poetry written while overcoming some of life's many obstacles. ❝i cried tears you'll never see, so fuck you. you can go cry me an ocean and leave me be.❞ ▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁▁ COLLECTION NO.1 #125 in poetry © wraiths™ 2015
