i’m going 80 on the highway, chasing the sunset.
why am I racing the sunset?
there’s wind in my hair, radio blasts,
my heart beats to the tune of the track.
my eyes should be on the road but the sky is orange with a hint of pink.
it’s so pretty, so promising,
a reminder of the future and that time is ever-moving.
with a sky so vivid and my heartbeat rhythmic,
how am i so upset?
About the Creator
daphne gray
just a girl in this world who thinks a lot and writes a lot and some of it makes sense and some of it doesn't. enjoy nevertheless.
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17:27
She thinks it’s funny how nervous I get around her. She says its “cute”. I tell her I don’t know why, but it feels like an obvious reason. I know I like her; I don’t know why I would admit that to her — not the crush that I have, but that she flusters me. It doesn’t matter anyway; I blush harder near her and can’t quite look her in the eyes the way I do everyone else.
By daphne grayabout a year ago in Poets
I Am a Prisoner who Dreams of Prisons
The dream always starts the same: I feel the cold bite of wind gnawing through clothes entirely inadequate to protect from the weather and I realize I am standing in line. Ahead of me and behind me are other inmates, identified by the burgundy scrubs we were issued upon arrival. I don't know where we're going.
By Kyle Cejka5 days ago in Fiction
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