her eyes were windows
Things are so much different then they used to be. I guess we have to accept the change, as it comes I mean, but why can't we change it ourselves? I'd like to think I run my own life. Maybe I don't. Will this word change you? I so desperately want to confide in you but I honestly don't know if you'll always be there. Will you?
maybe you've already read it but maybe you haven't
crimson passion runs through her veins
salmon ribbon through her locks
flashing false white-teethed grins
walking through falling autumn leaves
she hopes winter comes too soon
longing for icy roads and freezing lungs
misted breath and frozen expressions
green is gone from the world
buried beneath fallen flakes
hidden away by white wind
blanketed by icicles
and only pink remains
in the sunrisen sky
matching her manicured fingernails
and the tiny vessels in your eyes
mixed in with chocolate
brown
bordered by glazed vanilla
and a fearful yet strangely beautiful, glow