Young Writers Society

I am came home late last night,
around midnight, I had been walking
among the moon and the stars,
the only ones who could contest with my shadow
and perhaps focus it in a different way.

I didn't always like where I was going,
but I knew where I came from was no better,
I had spent some nights of my childhood outside looking
for a skunk, not yet knowing the smell of drugs.

There were days that I'd be pelted with rocks
by the other kids, on the good days they'd
only take my things and run.

Now, my respect falls around me,
in white flakes that burned to be emmersed
in, but were to nice to look at.
The piles of snow were similar to the day's
cloudy sky, it even had a streetlight reflecting
off it like the sun shown through those clouds.
There is more than one sky out here, tonight.

I've always fought depression, like the snow
would shine against the night sky,
but lose to its infinity.

Depression exists on the outside too;
it's always been hard to hide that from the wind.

When it would freeze me in my tracks just as I
was about to be home, I'd shiver and feel the wind
spiril up my pantleg and chill my entire body.

It was the worst experience of all though,
I didn't know when the weather was going to leave,
or if even it had to.

Atleast I'm home...