Frost bit tips
And mysterious junk pits
Autumn feels alive
I'm coasting on this high
Smoky fences never die
On a trail with a hand that stands on its own
and secret tea parties where shadows roam
I saw a deer fly on the count of three
and the grim reapers turned and fled from me
In the dark I form clouds
My seat chains pounds
As the orchestra begins
Reality fades in
Mar 31, 2020
Mar 31, 2020 at 10:36 PM UTC
Frost bit tips
And mysterious junk pits
Autumn feels alive
I'm coasting on this high
Smoky fences never die
On a trail with a hand that stands on its own
and secret tea parties where shadows roam
I saw a deer fly on the count of three
and the grim reapers turned and fled from me
In the dark I form clouds
My seat chains pounds
As the orchestra begins
Reality fades in
So this is my first poem on the site. This poem relates to a break up and how started coping by excessively smoking **** This poem defines my daily life of escaping the reality.