She hugs me tightly to herself I feel all resolve ebb away from me What with being encumbered from all sides with cold And she offering the only surety of warmth I sink deeper and deeper into Her warm fold indefinitely.
Waking up on cold mornings is a war that's seldom won.
i wanted to write a poem about your curls and how they made my heart beat like a drum played by a five-year old who had chocolate cake for lunch how my fingers were fighting each other and fighting the urge to tangle with yours and make their way to that chocolate colored head of yours and get tangled in it too and i wanted to write a poem of how much i wanted to be like Cinderella and leave something behind with the hopes that you’d call me back something like a notebook or my polka-dotted waterbottle but i guess the only thing i left was a tiny little part of my heart on the backseat of your car
And so death comes, with crimson tides, with cold harsh steel, and graceful strides, with burning pain, and sweet release, but at least this feeling, will come to cease.