Stitch the midnight sky
With your stitches made of lies
And embed it with your thread
Hear the darkness cry
If I had the power
With your darkest soul it cowers
And soaked in streetlights
To make eternity an hour
They tiptoe over our dream
With shadows made of vibrant beams
And hooked to our insanity
Missionaries to rip out every seam
YOU ARE READING
When they don't understand (poems)
Poetry"We're all in the same game,just different levels.Dealing with the same Hell,just different Devils"~Unknown So no matter what we're all the same in the sense that we have our own problems that we try hard to deal with.Remember,when they don't unders...
