tip toe to the window,
to the cat behind the blinds.
whisper to the widow,
a meeting of two minds.
be the first to falter,
the night seems to clear,
the future you will try to alter,
your living in fear,
feel the wind in your hair,
let it sing; its screaming of freedom.
its the last time to pretend to care,
you'll see them walk away, you'll be with them. |
Submission Name: a slice of crimson
