May 2019
The cold ground feels nice.
I take off my puffer
And let myself feel
The bite of last nights frost.
A moon-lit trail calls to me.
The stars lend their sparkle
To the icy layer that floats atop
Deeply, I wonder, would i swim?
Or let myself become part of the
Inevitable.
I take off my puffer
And let myself feel
The bite of last nights frost.
A moon-lit trail calls to me.
The stars lend their sparkle
To the icy layer that floats atop
Deeply, I wonder, would i swim?
Or let myself become part of the
Inevitable.
A late night drive home past the icy lake in winter. Depression moves on so quickly and more often than not, coinciding with perfect opportunities that make you second guess tomorrows possibilities or the possibility of tomorrow.
