It's twelve in the midnight,
Moon is the source of light.
Together with the stars bright,
Contentedness is all we might.
A wistling sound hit,
Followed by a loud boom boom boom bit.
Different colors lit,
Like an abstract in a sheet.
The sky becomes colorful,
That smells like alcohol.
And a piece of steamy coal,
Which takes time to cool.
But amazement is evident,
In the sparkling salty balls.
YOU ARE READING
Blood In Our Veins
Thơ caA collection of unorganized thoughts that turns out to be an unorganized piece which I don't know what to call. Everything is simply based on how I feel and how I see things in a random circumstance. As you go along with the compilations of my so-ca...
