Writing

I shiver
(from warmth)
there is Nothing for me to say that
could ever make this moment matter.
Why do my desires deviate from each other?
Am I supposed to only take one path,
or do you know?
If I say this is shit it is not
ironic, it is true.
I am not raw.
(and probably never could be)

I wish I could add one more Single
hour to this day.

2011

by Brittany Chavez