I could not think,
Of the pretty things that pretty people do.
Cyan and blue,
Were the colours painted in my room,
To match your shoes.
I'd paint it black,
Like your eyes but It'll be too deep,
A colour,
For me not to drown,
Forever.
I wish at the stars,
That you look at,
Me, too.
The same way that I look at you.
YOU ARE READING
From Neurons To Fingertips
PoesiaHave you ever had this random idea that comes from nowhere and got stuck in your mind that you've just gotta write it down?
