A Chance of Showers

melancholy’s
steely gray clouds
blow in quickly
pelt my exposed skin
icy sleet
leave me clutching
my breast
with raw, chapped hands
in futile effort
to protect
delicate tissue
from thousands of
stinging needles
called longing
for a past
I never had
future selves
I will never be

© 2019 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved

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