This is apart of my story, Iris. I had the character write this. Here it is. :)
He seeks the day
with not very much to say.
These words that he'd always balance on a tray
resemble his bright and beautiful appearance of a ray.
His hair, muddled, tossed, and all laid out
would give me the jitters of the idea of him that grows and develops a sprout
without the lovely, I'd turn so dry and helpless as if I've been stuck by a drought!
I would squeeze my sanity and drain my solitude; I'd yell, I'd shout!
Lately, I summon his name,
he may not be Johnny Cash or James Dean, but to me, his name will always rise in fame.
Nothing of explicit conetent would manifest to such ideology, not even shame!
And I know that if he reads this, he'll look at me and think the exact same.
YOU ARE READING
Mellifluous Murmurs
Poetry❁ Freedom is allowing the crisp air to guide you through this forest we can call society. ❁
