it has been a cold winter
settling a familiar ache in my joints
and chasing my tightly around the fire
bitter are the winds
raging against thick layers i'm wrapped in
pinching my cheeks angry red
the cold never leaves any scars on my skin
no ravaged marks nor lines of white
but it is painful nonetheless
YOU ARE READING
collections of constellations and the stars || poetry collection
Poetrypoems often written at midnight, each telling its own story. an anthology of sorts. grammatically incorrect use of lowercase is an aesthetic choice and intentional. |incomplete|
