Cold Day
I almost miss her as she strolls through the hollows of my scattered mind.
A pale ghost with a tattered, flowing dress. Faceless. Adorned with dark sadness.
Ornate grief painted as her background, as by some demented ghoulish artist.
My dreams shattered by the dawn, I awaken to the vacant and stagnate reality
that is pure emptiness without her on yet another cold day.
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2014
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