the ramblings of a love struck teenager who listens to punk

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I am the dreamer;
you are the dream.
Hearing the scream
of the wind in my hair,
I gaze through the air.
The passing collections
of cotton candy clouds
catch my shifting gaze.
With the scent,
of a cigarette smoke haze.
My thoughts drift to you
like the drifting boats
through the sea.
Sails. Sand. Salt.
Suddenly, the dreams
come to a halt.

I can't sleep poetryWhere stories live. Discover now