after hours.
Its cold under the stars.
Frost bitten lips, or champagne glasses shattered on ice. Either way you smile.
After hours,
You're drenched in the party.
Curled your hair, but the damp air had your time in vein.
Your smiles not the same, bent , tired of being misused.
After hours
the night has faded
Dappled light covers the floor. After hours, but nothings left of the hours before.
If not for the bottles on the shore.
And you wander if it happened.
Damp curls, cold lips, glass laid out like a map. Smiles bent, time adrift. Cold under the stars.
The numb that's left
After hours
YOU ARE READING
A Coping Mechanism
PoetryI write in order to cope with difficult things I've experienced. I really do think its the thing I'm best at. Sometimes my own poetry makes me freak the fuck out like how did I write that. And theN I cry cause wtf. Yeah. Yup. Oh yes. Indeed. You sho...
