Lying here,
In this deep blue,
Warm,
Bubble bath,
I look up to the ceiling.
Which flickers orange
And red
From the flames
Of the candles
In which I burn my fingers on.
The lights off,
The faint sound of
The evening going by
Outside the window, I cracked open.
So that I could focus
On anything other than
The sounds
Of my
Own
Mind.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts, Never Words. (Poetry Collection)
PoesíaPoems written by just some young adult going through some things.
