izz_midnight

I got a very old text message today. 

I remember when it was sent many yesterdays past. 

It dropped down from the top of my screen in a little box, 

The thick night cloaks everything and the snow follows suit

a delicate dance, welcome

after two years of rainy Decembers. 

My room is cold even though

the heat is blasting, so I sit

In Amherst's shade, where whispers grow,  
You stitched the seams of all we know,  
A bee's soft hum, a slant of light,  
Became the fabric of your night.  

I’d like a palmful of metaphors, 

Ones to use every time 

I put a pen to a page, 

To plant in my heart 

And become submerged in my hope, 

Tell me you love me, that you will never let me go 

Treat me like you’ve found me after I was lost in the snow 

Put me on a pedestal like we are in a show 

Preach about showing it all

To let yourself be bare and raw

It's just a trend, it's just a phase

You'll forget about in the next few days