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Alone
I brew inside of you
I shiver beneath the sheets, with thoughts of her wide brown eyes and ruby lips.
She spills happily all over the couch, murmuring about anarchy and ideas of a zombie apocalypse.
Born in December
And I became inside of her. Beating for her, I cringe; think back of sweaty, sticky days. Crayola and paint and a horrible shadow at day camp—little nightmares come to life.
This bright castle outlines
A rickety timeline of my first-decade world, the second, and the now as I dissipate into the cold.
Coldness is never still
It chills and kills swiftly but moves as silently and stealthily as death. Often rolls in unexpectedly—like a dirty carpet.
Hi there, Nick
The one in my greyish nightmare, lurking behind the grainy meadow, choking on my words.
