and in twelve:thirty AM,
I play music from bands unknown
even though the words are barely heard,
the lyricists elicits poison
the bass fill my veins,
and in this midnight I'm not sane
the meaning of it all,
I don't have a clue
but all at least,
for now,
I'm not thinking of you.

YOU ARE READING
tiny broken pieces and a faint memory of you
Poetryyou left, and tiny broken pieces and a faint memory of you is what's left of me. cover by @babyblue997