The night won't wait for me,
dons a selfish mind....
No gift by patience swindles any amount of buried decree,
doesn't have concept of time –
Leave a secret within the confounds of chest,
lay upon sheets cuddled along tightly hopes infest,
Left a bitterness that throat can't tastefully forget –
Jilted scars instilled beneath the earth construed,
Haunting vibrations yet further consumed....
I fall vicariously in damp hands confused;
A servant to an addiction one can seemingly never lose,
didn't much matter to who was used,
stories of passion turned to loss, endure times' efforts in ridiculed bemuse.
1^W
YOU ARE READING
Between an Antidote & a Dreary Phase
PoetryMy second Edition of a variety of Poetry feelings. For all the support and encouragements you all share with me - I do humbly appreciate all that you say and do. The feeling I get when another writer comments, or votes is imperial to how I interr...
