"The Old Man"



It's 5:00 am and you're up listening to the static buzz of the radio against the cold of the morning
Your eyelids are heavy as you take a sip from your mug 
the bitter and cold registering in your taste buds 
You look out a window frame of chipped white paint 
ever the quiet observer of things
The skies are barely any tint at all 
just an endless blue-black 
but if you look far enough you can just make out a hazy shade of rose 
maybe that's the sky blushing 
You once longed to travel beyond the hues of blues and blacks and rosy-pinks 
But now you sit here with your chapped lips and faded skin 
Drinking coffee long gone cold

-Anonymous

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