Will you dry your eyes on my death bed, the same way that you've always dried your eyes on those napkins that were meant for me?
Will your lips tremble when you mention my name as I die, the same way that it always did whenever my lips ghosts yours?
(d.r.)
YOU ARE READING
Black & Poisonous
Poetry"She had 50 days left to live. She had 5000 words left to say." A compilation of 50-word poems by a child who longed to see a better future than the one they've set for themselves. Each piece takes 12 seconds to read. #833 - 27/05/17 #687 - 28/05...
