someday in times of trouble I could laugh the aches away, and dance with the forlorn figures that are annoyingly playing on my head, where you are its connotative subject who loves to invade like a terrorist— it makes me rattled inside that i'm getting addictive into it.
bombarding me with unexplainable sh¡ts. the harder i try to brush you off, the more you are being tattooed inside my headspace. either it's an ink or paint, you are hard to erase, that even sweat and tears have no say...
been liking it tho, to be your trying hard.
YOU ARE READING
ain't first, ain't last
Poetryto be one's saturn. [old poetry collection for someone we could never have]
