Night-Wind Melancholy

Written by: Johnathon Souders

Reality is cold. 

Wait thats poetry

 I mean cold is the

Outside in a Indiana
winter moon,

Narcissist enjoying
my-day-old fatty

When Inspiration
hits you square in
the flesh.

Reality is, it’s
cold, exposed skin
it’s sting.

Eye’s burn dry from
fiery chill.

A Buddha second. Me
a week.

Noggin worried for

Real time awakening

Reality is cold.