How strange it is.
To be alone.
With only your thoughts.
In a cold.
Dark terrain.
I actually.
Find it quite comfortable.
Until my thoughts.
Drift to you.
And the coldness.
Seeps into my.
Bones.
And I no longer wish.
To be alone.
I only long.
To be in your arms.
YOU ARE READING
They made me write something here
PoetryBoxes and keys. That's all life is. But you must look hard. To know the difference. Between a chain. And a pair of wings.
