Its nights like these, that are the worst.
The nights were the ghostly thin air seems to whisper your name.
The nights were the heavy rain, drops to the rhythm of your pathetic heartbeat.
The nights were the empty booze bottles are writing your name and the cigarettes burn their way into my flesh.
The nights were im screaming your painful name at the top of my drunken lungs.
These nights, are the worst.
YOU ARE READING
Metanoia
Poetry"YOU LEFT BRUISES I CANNOT ERASE WITH FOUNDATION THIS TIME" These are just really shitty old poems tbh But i hope you guys are well c: © [Ranked #467 || poetry] [[Completed]]
