His screams
Haunt his dreamsHis faces
Their placesAll wiped away.
Those golden eyes
His charming liesA smile
A kiss
Those precious lipsWhich face to remember?
That cold NovemberA horrible day
In which he was ripped away
YOU ARE READING
Hopeskine
PoetryWhat isn't centred around Hopeskine at this point? My little Hopeskine heart is shattered