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If you don't learn to write your own story, someone else will write it for you

5 poems·Since October 2015
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"Growing Cold"

October 3, 2015

I sit here cold

All alone 

No one to hold 

Just growing old

as if I were of soom sort of mold 

Crusty, musty, and dusty

 

Nothing of life clings to me anymore 

And I feel that I'm roting at my core

 

Love left me long ago

therefore, hope as this is so 

My will to live no longer grows

but instead decays along with your big toe

 

How I wish I could hold you one last time

And feel your whiskers tickle me fine

Till tears of laughter start to show

And sounds of giggles start to grow 

And hear your words sing to me

The sweet sounds of "Hi honey"

 

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