Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2010
2 years till bored.
The fall holds me in.
I tripped over the cord
to my guitar.

My ears grow cold.
Behind blind eyes, bored.
I tripped over the door
to my bedroom

You're the cold hands that keep me stubbing my fingers.
You're the cold feet tapping my knees, kick me in bed.
Keeping me moving just to stave the chills from running on me,
with the smiles from me. We aren't quite sure what they mean.

2 years till
the fall holds me in.
I tripped over the cord
to my guitar.

just to stop

you're the cold hands,
you're the cold feet,
you're everything
holding me back.
Written by
Ken Sheetz
565
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems