Sometimes your head spins out of control.
Whether you miss someone or
thoughts burst through your skull.
Sleep seems like such a bore
when the tiniest thought is free to fly.
You craft your words with a flaming quill.
It's a magic that only you can tie,
where the clock will obey your every will.
YOU ARE READING
All the types of love // Poetry // Compilation #6
PoetryA collection of poems from my second year university poetry portfolio.
