the night is pitch black.
the only sound you can hear is the
river you can't see swishing through.all you can see is the moon hanging
by a thread from the skies, gleaming
and shining like a silver ball of light,
and you stare at it more and more till
it starts to spin and it spins till it melts
and large blobs of silver fall down in
the river, glistening and run through till
it streams through your feet, tickling your
soles, and you're drenched in the scent of vanilla,
drowning, trying to breathe, flailing, gasping-and everything reverts to black and you wake up.
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honestly guys whAT DO I WRITE
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Acoustic Memories
Şiirpoetry burns through our veins like it did in yours. for what is poetry except inked music? Highest Ranking : #86 POE