Every night, I'll knock on your door with a plate full of feast in my hands, for all I could offer were days of peace offerings.
Every night, you'll find a way back into my head, over-riding the void in my heart with a simple knock on its doors.
(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...
