when the nights get longer and your breath smells like whiskey
in your dead, your gone, and I wish you were here
we walk on a line, and it's all just so risky
one step and you may just dissapear
I hold you in my dreams, I wish that you're alright
with softness in my voice I hope you stop the endless night
you long for something bigger, but why, my friend, of death?
I stand here now before you, pick the black or pick your breath
I remember what is was like to see the fire in your eyes
maybe if I was there for longer then we'd both sleep at night
but dreams are dreams and although they are fitting
this whole word is made up of people Ill sitting
so brush me away because you tell yourself you're less
you'll think that now, but how do you think I'd feel of your death?
YOU ARE READING
complacent
Poetryquieter achieved poems from the girl who thinks of stars and angels
