My Thoughts Are Pollution

Coming-of-age ramblings that don't mean much in the long run

Month: September, 2016

Fleeting (Song)

Fleeting

A winter gloom
These clouds hang low in the sky
She feels it crawl up her spine
The greys and blues
Serve only to clarify
As it gently traces a line

Her eyes go wide
Her eyes go black
Her hands are still
Her touch exact
She fogs the mirror
Under her breath
And finally here
She feels the press-
-ure of the last three weeks hold back

But she knows it won’t last.

A brief exhale
The blanket fell off the bed
She holds her shivering bones
Her fingers pale
The blood rushes to her head
Her room, a kingdom; her bed, a throne.

Her eyes go wide
Her eyes go black
Her hands are still
Her touch exact
She fogs the mirror
Under her breath
And finally here
She feels the press-
-ure of the last three weeks hold back

But she knows it won’t last.