isn't it ironic,
how it pains me,
whenever the sun beams,
who used to call me luna?
BINABASA MO ANG
hiapoewy
Poesíayoung love cries with silence when awake, but all behold the same if they blink and dream. a collection of musing and free verse.
luna
isn't it ironic,
how it pains me,
whenever the sun beams,
who used to call me luna?
