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Frostbite
November 29, 2015
This is sick.
My stomach isn’t rich.
I wish you weren’t missed.
It’s all true to the bone.
I can’t see straight when you catch my eye.
And now you’re staring at me like I did something wrong.
You tore me to pieces.
I hope you fall when I am better,
I won’t try to save you like I want.
You are cold
And I hate you for the wind.
But I’ll love you as autumn
And this frostbite will always win.
© Amanda W., Nanty Glo, PA
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