You don't know me.
A stranger peering through your blinds at night. I see you rustle with your blankets. The blue diamond pattern that never covers your crooked toes. The chill never wakes you, but you struggle with it. A mess of restless legs that want to run. I'd run with you... but you don't know me. Your hair loses its sheen while stifled under pillows. Breath becomes shallow while I wait. What's done is done and the gravel road that comes up from behind will never settle us straight. You don't know me. I'm just some phantom foaming at the mouth... waiting.
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AuthorMolly Roland is a writer by nature, and she enjoys stepping over the invisible lines society loves to draw. Categories |