Hidden away above two thin staircases
a bed, a desk, and bookshelf,
a writer’s paradise
the rain would fall and set
its cadence to my thoughts
the old radiator pumped hot breath
forcing my window to be cracked a pinch
and there each night I would fall asleep
in a melody of cold and hot—
wrapped up safe in all my ghosts.
xx Atticus
@atticuspoetry)
www.atticuspoetry.com)
