Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2021
From the fall of fall,
I didn’t wanna run anymore.
Sickness wrought upon
by cold feet, now warmed,
Not used to salt-lined thresholds
and closed doors.

Unchained, not belonging
to anyone, prolonging
the mornings, undone
by the death of distrust.
No more at peace on the run.
sorry, i’m gay.
Marsh Orian
Written by
Marsh Orian  22/M/England
(22/M/England)   
102
   Indeed
Please log in to view and add comments on poems