journal · poetry

So Tenderly

I cannot love you anymore.
It’s not the same.
It’s always changing.
The wind is blowing
Far too strong.
The world is paralyzed,
and I keep moving.
Then I am paralyzed,
the world keeps moving.
And I had a dream
that I was drowning
within this room
so dark and crowded.
Winter is here
the cold is killing the plants and the trees
and this cold is killing me.
This cold is killing me.
So tenderly.
And when spring gets here,
I do believe,
this startling cold
will surely have killed me.
So tenderly.


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