Wet grass, quiet street. Misty Air just enough money to eat. Walking this alley gives me the creeps. Blue impala parked in the middle of the street. Who gives a fuck let me just breathe. Siting in these white walls all alone cooped up reading, wondering,searching just for a reason.
How about searching for a reason to live on, sometimes I wonder why I'm not gone. Gone. Gone out this world like gun shooting fire,rapidly increasing my heart before it expires.
Sometimes it feels like my only escape, Fuck it. I'll let this knife decide my fate..
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Note I do not take full credit for this poem.
YOU ARE READING
Blue nights
PuisiBlue nights is my first poetry book. These stories are not just stories made for entertainment. They are the feelings,thoughts,and bad mistakes I've gone through.
