Pick up the phone.
We aren't dead,
We're just past living.
Expired youth,
Pick your battle.
Like crows after midnight,
It's time for the birds whose songs are not praised.
Maria,
Black wings cloaking our insecurities
Coming through at night.
Flames a brew
Candles out
Let smoke fill my mind,
For then I won't hear screams.
YOU ARE READING
Acts of Rain ||a collection of poetry|| #Wattys2016
Poesía((Look at how dramatic past me kinda made this description)) //older poems are kinda shit// Same old empty feelings. So I've tried writing poetry now.. Mostly more on the sad side, but I am not you, the reader, and pain and beauty are viewed diff...
