The shadows of the day whisper, 

“Go”; and I know 

The damage has been done:

Rusty gears push and squeak, trying
To release

Any feeling of love

From my head

And isn’t it grand –

Instead of deeming it 

alive, they

Pour it out of my eyes.

Nights like these

I fall

Into the depths

Of disasterous dreams.


About heatherd001

Hello! My name is Heather. I'm sixteen years old and I love to write (poems mostly) but I'm working on some story- and novel-writing. Writing is a creative outlet for me.
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