you spend hours
in this room,
touching my possessions
and leaving fingerprints on
my memories.
but what you don't know
is that these four walls are filled with
tears and songs, pain and poetry.
you don't realize that you know
more about me
than my closest friends do.
so take your gloves, take your vacuums
and go
because you're just a stranger to me,
a stranger that can see through my rib cage.
YOU ARE READING
maybe i'm dreaming (COMPLETED)
Poetrya sky full of poems, none of which connect (stars without constellations) this is a compilation of almost every aspect of my life in poems, as well as some fictional elements too i hope you enjoy my cemetery of secrets -lowercase is intended for sty...
