stumbling down the road at half past three
the moonlight's blocked out by the arms of a tree
a bottle of illegal vodka hangs from your fist
and a cascade of scarlet falls from your wrist
a/n: *uses All Time Low lyrics as a title to try and cover up the fact that my writing's been shit this past couple weeks*
i'm sorry! not like anyone furiously refreshes their wattpad desperately waiting for my poems anyway, but still.
~blink-184~
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Poesíai won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
