Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

A cold March morning

Hand’s shoved deep in my pockets for warmth,
Eyes darting around like green tennis balls,
I am always waiting for something,
someone,
never knowing exactly who or what it is,
A cigarette is burning in between my finger tips,
I think they are turning blue,
F*** Vermont weather.
I shiver,
Still looking,
Still wandering,
Still waiting,
for something.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback