Feels like hundreds
Perhaps thousands
Of storms
Swept through me
I stand in the ocean
Bare and afraid I will sink
Long fingers rake my bones -
It's cold.
And my eyes won't open anymore -
It's dark.
Pull me out
Before I lose the battle
Collect me in your jar
I'm scattered
YOU ARE READING
Confessions of a Melancholic Dreamer #Wattys2015
PoetryA collection of poetry and prose, gathered through years of creative black-outs and self-preservation. 'Feel the rhythm of a thumping heart through the lines of a daydreamer.' Copyright ©GRETA GREE 2015 Currently ranking 214 in Poetry category (6/29...
