I wonder how long
Before they notice I've gone.
Naive little one, it won't matter
They don't care, they hear your pitter patter.
Including the nights you cry,
or the nights when you want to die.
YOU ARE READING
Whispers of the Wounded
Poetry//Poetry written by the pained// I keep thinking That if I keep whispering These terrible thoughts to this wind Maybe I'd see the meaning in something again //Cover by the amazing @anixkuh//
