On the balcony of the eighth floor
I'm smoking a cigarette
I don't care if I look like a whore
My heart has not given up yet
The fresh air
And that cold little breeze
Remind me of the ease
You had running your fingers through my dark thick hair
2 months ago
That vision would have awaken my vertigo
My brown eyes filling with heavy tears
Doesn't feel like years
Smoke is tinting the city
With trays of my melancholy
The lady's beautiful tonight
You remember looking at me like that, right?
It's cold now, but
Even if it was so fucking hot
The only thought of you would make me shiver
On the balcony of the eighth floor.
YOU ARE READING
i forgive you
PoetryHe asked in his dreamy voice tinted with worry: "Will you forgive me, one day?" I couldn't help but say: "You're already forgiven. You always were." A miscellany of my poems about forgiving others in love, hate, sadness, and all those emotions that...
