the dreamer ponders about nothing that could be built upon his imaginations. the smoker burns his fingers because we're all a bit clumsy. the writer sits there and he writes and writes and writes and writes, but nothing sounds right when you're having a bad night. the sounds of the night makes an appearance. You're alone with your thoughts again. The idea of this whole mess being over a little soon puts a smile on their faces. all shades of the same person, but don't we want to be more? don't we thrive in being more? the dreamer writes while he smokes to the long nights.
i guess it's just another one of those nights.
YOU ARE READING
poetry for the poetic: 5
Poetrythis is my fifth poetry book on this profile! please check out my other 4 x thank you for reading ❤️
