Wind, take me by the hand
and fly me across the sky
to the place called Neverland.
Wind, carry me over the motionless cities
and all those people screaming
over their lives as shitty.
Wind, suspend me high up
in the clouds where I belong;
intrude — not I, not ever.
(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...
