I’m not
crying. it’s just
this cold wind dragging tears
from my eyes. this wind
that last week loved me
this week is cold and cruel,
cutting, trying to wind
its icy fingers
beneath my coat,
pulling unwilling moisture
from my eyes, making
my nose run. I can’t even
compare it to you, because
you haven’t been overtly
cruel. only in withholding
your true heart, your deepest
love have you shown
the coldness that lurks
in your chest.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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