Tentatively exprimental,
On the subject of
Sleep.
With the Stars awakening,
And the moon beams,
Sadly weak.
As insomia striken,
Dare not make a sound,
I am slowly,
Sadly,
Dream-made bound.
YOU ARE READING
Froot Loops @ Midnight
PoesíaI don't know why I care about your thoughts so much. Who the hell cares why you're up at three in the morning?
