Him, one syllable, three letters, a world was all it was until you met him, now memories play like a movie in your mind – his laugh, his smile, his actions, the way he made you feel. The uneasiness, the flutters, the million caged birds beating in your chest.
-now only the aching remains
YOU ARE READING
Bleeding Ink
PoetryI will not pretend to be a poet. I simply lace letters into words, words in verses and these verses are my feeling which have slowly bled through the pages of my notebook. This is my "Bleeding Ink".
