

as the winter wanes on methe wind gusts and makes a flaky mist the fog clings and frees the winter's lust, the gust blowing through the bare trees, dead but undead, their pokey brown branches laceas the winter wanes on me
the dark gray sky,
the white clouds like broken glass. this season eats me alive. harsh bitterness, it's not for pussy's.


grayi never believed in mass, or screaming in tongues for all the world to hear, i can barely pray, at least right now. it's too gray. i know it's cozy, but i'm not in the mood for candles. i just want to be able to talk ith God again, but now that i can't see the sun, it's almost like my brain is trapped in fog. it's too gray. i wish i could just pray.gray
Previous PageNext Page