Whose stuffed monkey is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite sad though.
It really is a tale of woe,
I watch him frown. I cry hello.
He gives his stuffed monkey a shake,
And sobs until the tears make.
The only other sound's the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The stuffed monkey is little, soft, and deep,
But he has promises to keep,
Until then he shall not sleep.
He lies in bed with ducts that weep.
He rises from his bitter bed,
With thoughts of sadness in his head,
He idolizes being dead.
Facing the day with never-ending dread.
YOU ARE READING
✧*̥˚αɳxιҽƚყ ƚԋσυɠԋƚʂ *̥˚✧
Poesía♡ 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 is just a small book of some poems, Mostly thoughts I have during the day. People with serve Anxiety will know what I am talking about, but I want everyone to know what I am thinking through the day. Thank you for stopping by! ✧ 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚�...
