I am sick of seeing my breath
So as
I march up this bank
My chin tips toward the sun and I
Slam shut my eyes
Let my face go to leather
My vision go rosy
Like my knuckles and nose
Pink lemonade lids
In Greensboro's blind spot
I stand in spotlight
Yet I don't feel bright, no
All I feel is
Wasted
When I spin
To lean on thin
Air
I smell
Your sweater
Sunrays are
Your fingers
And when I tap my boot on
Icy ponds
I hear your voice
Crack
My heart
Crack
Split through its rawest chamber
The one you unlocked
Today
Eight months after
I left you out to freeze
Jan 21, 2019
Jan 21, 2019 at 7:03 PM UTC
I am sick of seeing my breath
So as
I march up this bank
My chin tips toward the sun and I
Slam shut my eyes
Let my face go to leather
My vision go rosy
Like my knuckles and nose
Pink lemonade lids
In Greensboro's blind spot
I stand in spotlight
Yet I don't feel bright, no
All I feel is
Wasted
When I spin
To lean on thin
Air
I smell
Your sweater
Sunrays are
Your fingers
And when I tap my boot on
Icy ponds
I hear your voice
Crack
My heart
Crack
Split through its rawest chamber
The one you unlocked
Today
Eight months after
I left you out to freeze
Keep haunting me
