winter’s pale breath blows
its howling screech whispers forgotten names
of yesterdays that the bias ignorant
want to keep hidden in the dust of snow

The streets bleed in cold colours
and somewhere the fates play a game
they write my name in the dust
and they all laugh like the insane

winter bleeds a solitary tear
as the fabrics of my reality gets dyed again
no colour but shades of monochrome
with a hint of my oldest fear

The streets bleed in cold colours
and somewhere the fates play a game
they write my name in the dust
and they all laugh like the insane

and I taste the rust of good intentions
as they fade away
I tried so hard to change you
but I was the one who walked astray
and somewhere the fates play a game
they wrote your name in the dust
and they all laughed and sounded the same

(c) 2017 A.W. Simpson

Photo, art & design : Allen Wolfie Simpson

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