Spiny wooden fingers resting on a trunk.
A trove of life, but leafless & somewhat dead.
Grey, Grey, Grey.
There is no sun today, & bleak is the way she describes her feeling.
Smoke billowing from my mouth, plumes of words follow into an eternal transference of subconscious thought.
I can't breath.
I'm swimming, icy water burns my nostrils, my head hurts.
We'll die together, here, but you'll never know of my existence.
Stuck in-between these buildings as quiet and apathetic as you've always been,
& always will be.
Grey, Grey, Grey.
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