Lightning strikes not of its own accord,
but is chased from the sky by frozen thunder.
Wayward souls stray in the luster of night,
ignorant to the sandpaper tongues lashing above.
Dusty and forgotten, brushes long abandoned
the world of mortals but a mute canvas,
where warmth is only whispered:
bittersweet and foreign like a midnight sun.
The brazen storm rages on.
Clandestine hearts lost in the night
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.