We sit out on the sand,
The fog covers the sky,
And blankets the world,
Like a shield.
The waves nip at our feet,
The water's cold
But I'm warm because you hold my hand,
And I don't think you even realize.
We lay back on the damp sand,
And you brush back my hair,
And leave your fingers there
For a second too long
And I think I've gotten too used to this.
there's a jar on my nightstand;
it used to be my grandmother's
but i recycled her memory
into a pandora's box full of happiness.
the slips of paper are periwinkle
with dark purple penned messily,
I wake up under covers or chains,
Alone in a bed I didn't sleep in,
Clothes like a straight-jacket around my limbs,
My thoughts locked in the prison of my brain.
Outside it is snowing—a cotton cover,
my horoscope said i would lose someone dear to me,
you've never really believed in that astrology,
but i click on yours, and what i see staring back
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