with every restless sleep,
comes the dying pieces,
of the person i could have been,
if i had more time with you.
haunting me
like a fading dream.
wanting to be let go
after holding onto
what was left
of the dying pieces of a man
who burned when pure love touched him.
- zmh
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drops of champagne
Poetrydrops of champagne stains my skin, as memories of your lips burn with each passing sip as i float down to hell with you. DISCLAIMER: if you see any grammar mistakes, i do apologize but also let me know so that i am able to fix them as soon as pos...
