1-19-16 fifty eight days clean
With a touch like medication
And a sweet whisper that sends chills up my spine.
You know I can't resist
Those eyes when they're anything but alive.
All night long,
Sing me a chorus,
One that doesn't need a melody,
One with just a few desperate chords.
Levitate my body to the ceiling,
Press yourself against me
Just for the feeling.
You're real.
This has. to. be. real.
- (m.m)
This is what happens when you listen to your playlist about sex on spotify xD
YOU ARE READING
Haunted (Poetry)
PoetryInside of my head lies rooms of emotions, and stories. I don't own this empire of a hotel on my own, though. If you listen and look closely, you'll find blood within every shade of red, ghosts in every mirror, and screams in every ballad. I'm haunte...
