come winter i am no longer

words by Vaidehi Bhardwaj, art by Alyssa Manolo

content with being the guilt of a warm place. smells like spilt milk. leaving home for the last time, locking the cemetery gates, i remember the first fall leaves, divine orange miracles in a vast field of roses.

come winter i am no longer content with being, the guilt of a warm place. smells like spilt milk. leaving home for the last time, locking the cemetery gates, i remember the first fall leaves, divine orange miracles in a vast field of roses.

come winter i am

a warm place, cemetery

gates. first fall, divine.