It's a chilly kind of cold
And it grows old
Very quickly
It's a heavy sense of sleep,
Makes you weep
When you can't try
It's too far for you to see
And you can't be
The normal they need
It's too hard to hold it in
So you just sin,
And then you cry
YOU ARE READING
Those Who Don't
Poetry"I've felt the pain when lines are crossed; and those who don't are truly lost." --- My biggest poetry collection *ever*.
