To me, he was the sky.
Occasionally a pure blue
polka dotted with cotton clouds
spinning me in delirious circles
until falling breathless in the grass.
Sometimes an exquisite sunset
dyeing his colours in my skin
turning a plain, overlooked girl
into his "favourite piece of art".
But all too often a stunning storm
icy particles piercing my flesh
his words bruised on my cheek
leaving me shivering in his wake.
Mostly a dull, grey expanse
beyond feeling or caring
about anything, especially me
his name left hollow in my mouth.
Maybe I'm better off indoors.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 6:19 PM UTC
To me, he was the sky.
Occasionally a pure blue
polka dotted with cotton clouds
spinning me in delirious circles
until falling breathless in the grass.
Sometimes an exquisite sunset
dyeing his colours in my skin
turning a plain, overlooked girl
into his "favourite piece of art".
But all too often a stunning storm
icy particles piercing my flesh
his words bruised on my cheek
leaving me shivering in his wake.
Mostly a dull, grey expanse
beyond feeling or caring
about anything, especially me
his name left hollow in my mouth.
Maybe I'm better off indoors.
