Lost my way in a rainstorm.
No hope, of getting home.
None of which there is anymore
I am drained from the streets.
Like the flurries that dance on
Your eyelashes. Chills your breath
And shakes your abdomen.
Sun beats, and heats my frost away.
I am a silent voice in a quiet room.
Eager to hear the words form.
To delay the truth, I disappear
To find a way to keep them warm.
Fallen leaves, scattered on the
Pavement. Autumn mess,
Breezes flow through thin clothes.
Tough hands rake up my damp blades.
Seasons flee and blend,
Like watercolor. Making shapes,
Making images, you've never seen before.
And beyond the disastrous beauty,
Lies a smudge of error, you've never
Seen. But from a wrong motion of
An amateur artist.
Lies the imagery of me.
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 1:28 AM UTC
Lost my way in a rainstorm.
No hope, of getting home.
None of which there is anymore
I am drained from the streets.
Like the flurries that dance on
Your eyelashes. Chills your breath
And shakes your abdomen.
Sun beats, and heats my frost away.
I am a silent voice in a quiet room.
Eager to hear the words form.
To delay the truth, I disappear
To find a way to keep them warm.
Fallen leaves, scattered on the
Pavement. Autumn mess,
Breezes flow through thin clothes.
Tough hands rake up my damp blades.
Seasons flee and blend,
Like watercolor. Making shapes,
Making images, you've never seen before.
And beyond the disastrous beauty,
Lies a smudge of error, you've never
Seen. But from a wrong motion of
An amateur artist.
Lies the imagery of me.