It doesn't happen in the morning,
Or neither in the evening,
It happens at night when;
The room is dark,
And I lay in bed,
Listening to the sound of nothing,
Then my heart whispers your name,
Over and over,
Like a mantra,
Makes me think of your eyes shining,
The way it grows green under the light,
And then when I look at them,
I fall in love all over again.
YOU ARE READING
Smoking Kills [poems]
PoetryA bunch of poems i write when i feel depressed, this may be triggering and upsetting, so if this can not be handled you may quit. [nevermind, i dont own all of this poems, only the ones signed of by me]