Lying in bed

—- trying to sleep
But my heart quakes
And the winters chill
Foggily served sans snow
Yet not without cold there
Are no tropical daydreams here
The sun will rise later and might
Make waves at around 11 or 12
But till 10 it might be a gloom
Fate stays awake in a dense layer
Of the cloud you can see it in the
Flowers that are breathing the crisp
In cold there might be leaves of decay
But bursts of life pitch an ordinary seasonal recluse._-

Speak yer mind

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