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Apr 2020
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.
Written by
Leon  24/M/Richmond, VA
(24/M/Richmond, VA)   
96
   Leon
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