If I could listen
to the ghosts within the mist…
I might just go mad.
My wardrobe divide
does not account for seasons.
Cold? Just grin and bare.
If I could listen
to the ghosts within the mist…
I might just go mad.
My wardrobe divide
does not account for seasons.
Cold? Just grin and bare.
We thought that maybe…
If we tried doing it with…
But the joint was stuck.
I was Ice Empress,
a cold, stony heartless bitch.
When did that all melt?
I must be clutter
finding my way into rooms
to watch you shun spring.
You tracked mud footsteps
across everything I own.
You said “this is spring.”
I kept Autumn close,
wrote to it with summer words-
not that winter knew.
Summer surprised us,
trust England not to expect
sunshine in July.
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