say it once again with feeling,
how the death rattle breathing,
silenced as the soul was leaving,
the deflation of our dreaming,
leaving me bereft and reeling.
my beloved ghost and me,
sitting in a tree,
d-y-i-n-g.
YOU ARE READING
Desperate Nightmares, Old Habits Die: Prose and Poetry
Poetryi live in a poetic life but dying from your poisonous lies. we live in vain, so we drink until we get drunk in our own mistakes and sins. but still making out with the devils, but in the back of my mind, i'm with you - haunting me stunningly.
