I have this thing, I mistake days and weeks,
And remember the bits of everything,
In a way that's not exactly helping.
I tend to forget most of the times,
That time is and has always continued to pass,
And you, who knows the ways to flow,
Never even once thought of turning around.
And in a time like this, the words trickle down from my feelings,
And mask the wavering corners of my smile,
For I shouldn't be the only one crying.
I write down words, not necessarily something of meaning,
But I truly wish that maybe you could,
Just give me a hand and pull me.
Pull me out of this mess, I promise you won't regret,
For the sake of love our love turned to dust,
Pull me out of the eighth of August.
YOU ARE READING
All My Poems Of August 2023
PoetryThe month of unpredictable rain showers and the hide and seek of sun and the clouds, the month of poetry written down for every kind of love's death and the month of my heart desiring for fairy tales... I invite you to read the poetry of my August o...
