Dear Future Self,
I am eight years old. My family
Weep every birthday because of
January. The month of loved ones
Relinquished and frostbite.
I am eight years old and disturbed
Gravel is nothing but your weary
Tyres and rubber eyelids. I am
Nine and gravel undisturbed is
Silence by your tombstone.
Yours Sincerely,
I hope it gets better.
About the Creator
Kelly Rosalyn Moore
English Literature & Creative Writing Graduate
* Interested in reading & writing poetry, fantasy, horror, and magical realism
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