breathe me in; drink me like I'm your vodka shot; fill me up with deep emotions; see my reality; comfort my sadness; exhale me
do not try forgetting me
[at least not this night]
YOU ARE READING
Scrabbles
Poetrymatchsticks only go to waste when they are lit and once they are lit their lives are slowly being smothered just like humans sometimes i write nice and sometimes i don't all depends on my head
