Once a poet died.. her words become monochrome. Black for sorrow, white for empty, and gray for loss.
All the teacups will be cold, the papers will be blank, and the morning will be dark.
Once a poet died with her broken heart, all the pieces will turn into flames. Fire will flicker along with tears and waves will crash upon the pain.
Once a poet died, her poems will never be the same again-
-because her words died with him.
- M.M | A Dead Poet
[Photo: Ar ra]
![M | A Dead Poet[Photo: Ar ra]](https://img.wattpad.com/3d8835ffab776b2b015db3980230582b335595ca/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f54733465687134476a5848384f673d3d2d313133323836353830342e313665373265653861393239373135643531373739343431363935352e6a7067?s=fit&w=720&h=720)
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YOU ARE READING
CHAOTIC MIND
PoetryEvery chaos inside my mind bleeds to a short poem. Here are some : ) Hope you enjoy reading!! - M.M
