Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Your cologne still lingers in the room.
Your suit cuffs are still in the drawer,
as I open it , tear makes it way.
These walls murmur in my ears,
in your hoarse voice.
Your diary, describing me in every way,
as rose fossils hurriedly fall down.
I was in love with a writer,
who made me immortal
on his pages by withering
away himself.
YOU ARE READING
Pseudonymous Print- Poetic Quotes, Tales Whatever The Anonymous Scribbles!
PoetryHighest Rank #10 (19.11.2016) Scribbling in the world of, "Musings, Drama, Monochromes, Confetti and few words sprinkled with Stardust." Metaphor Intended! Compilation of poetic crisp tales.
