By Anonymous
The winter strips me of my colour
yet my rings are rusting in shades of copper
coral, teal, and gray
I used to think to myself
It’s too dark and quiet out
How is the petrichor not warmer now
Where is the sound to keep this cantaloupe-rinsed town awake
But
I suppose there is sometimes
Colourful yelling
The felling of silence
Footfalls lining the halls
The white walls are thin
And my sleep is never not broken into in two
I guess it’s weird but I think
I know
I will miss it even so
I was home 24/7
Then split to and fro for 7
But in my 17th year
everything is yellow