Probably not as funny as I think I am
Insta @chloe_j_writes
didn’t know the air in my house was stale, until I ventured outside.
By Chloë J.3 years ago in Poets
summer winds may have more joy, but winter winds have far better stories.
particulates, bound into unified being will disassemble.
heard a rumor from the northern wind that you don’t love me anymore.
flame in my eyes met the ice in your own; the sun couldn’t have melted
watched, helpless, as you warmed your hands above the flames of my existence.
charred hands emerged from ashen flecks of former life; grasped proffered fingers.
took two tries for the lighter to birth flame for the cigarette you held.
flame poured like water, deceptively slow, burning death over the land.
dragon fire cannot hurt me anymore, for I am become mere stone.
love must only be fire, for it hurts in ways that earth, sea, and wind, can’t.
Apollo, with his, gaudy flame, couldn’t outshine moon’s ice purity
