Anna@YWP

Looming over your shoulders

Each stack higher than its former

Every thought and every scrap

Of an idea too scared to ponder

Every moment that hurt

Each minute that lingered longer

“Men are dogs,” I say to my friend as she kneels at the foot of her bed, like a child waiting for her mother’s strong arms. Yet, I am her friend tonight, so my scrawny arms make a cheap cradle.

It seems a bit strange, in retrospect, how we have one day to celebrate the passing of a year; as if that day could encompass all of the things you have done in those 12 months; as though you are really any older than you would be with t

Amber leaves cling
To umber trees reaching
Frayed roots deep into the ground.
They've told you time
And time again, "autumn is the season
Of the dead.
Green leaves rusting, flowers
Dusting over till the pink