Scattered

Frustration you are weak.

A pain riddled freak stands by the door,
While a dreamer dozes.

Into the snow step numerous feet,
But she walks faster in her silliness,
Searching the night
For a steady beat
And a seat.

Knowing she should hand over the tiny truths that are shaking her,
but,
Apologetic sadness instead tries breaking her

As she walks with frustration,
Passing welly boots and songs.
Avoiding conversation,
She is weak.

The best thing to do is to speak.