Sometimes, you need fresh air,
and beyond the curb of ignoring an annoying party-acquaintance,
you step outside to feel the briefly welcoming air;
you think you'd overcome the standing hairs of your neck,
but you don't and you stay.
Sometimes, you need fresh air.
Slowly, after that last awkward smirk from your blind-date,
you reach for your cigarettes and head outside into the rather stark breeze of night,
leaving coffee for smoke, intertwined with the thin ice, that is breath.
Sometimes, you need fresh air,
and it's cold, too cold to leave the room,
and it's dark, too dark outside,
but you leave anyway because whatever stands inside is a spoiled pique unrelentingly trying to get you.
Sometimes, you need fresh air.
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 10:18 PM UTC
Sometimes, you need fresh air,
and beyond the curb of ignoring an annoying party-acquaintance,
you step outside to feel the briefly welcoming air;
you think you'd overcome the standing hairs of your neck,
but you don't and you stay.
Sometimes, you need fresh air.
Slowly, after that last awkward smirk from your blind-date,
you reach for your cigarettes and head outside into the rather stark breeze of night,
leaving coffee for smoke, intertwined with the thin ice, that is breath.
Sometimes, you need fresh air,
and it's cold, too cold to leave the room,
and it's dark, too dark outside,
but you leave anyway because whatever stands inside is a spoiled pique unrelentingly trying to get you.
Sometimes, you need fresh air.
Request permission to use this poem