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The whispers of the demised soul for now the feelings unknown. For their heart thumps and fleas when they take site of of standing there, may it be the sound or the cheer the one infront emites around. Soon time goes as their presence gets old but the butterflies seem to not go, alas they wish they were the one they whisper about as their ears turned red. Realising the feeling called love has come to an end. They take a deep breath giving up on the feelings within as the demised soul falls into a pit wishing they were the one holding their hand.
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YOU ARE READING
ׂ⭒ ˚.｡ Random Poems ๋ ׅ ˖ ׂ⭒ ˚.｡˚
Poésiethese are just random 'poems' i wrote high on diet coke at three am 😃 (dare i say poems cuz these are shitty af-)
