|012019|
Every time I try
Not to be that girl
Who waits for phone calls,
Checks her volume,
Be that little sunshine,
And holds on to rough promises
Like dying embers and ash,
I would still be
That girl.
That girl,
On-bended-knees,
Howling over the moonlight,
Wetting her pillows at night,
Her scarred soul with its fading glow,
Slowly letting go.
That girl,
Lightheaded,
Became one with the wind.
Clothes disintegrated,
Cracked lips,
Closed eyes,
And the faintest of a smile.
Can now finally taste
That sweet, sweet sensation,
Of coming home.
That girl,
Who sang your songs,
And danced with you,
Now singing her own songs,
Dancing to her own beat,
Not thinking of you no more.
YOU ARE READING
Silence and Bass
Poetry[COMPLETED] The silence was too deafening so I wrote them in tattered torn pages with jagged lines. Poems I wrote even in my sleep. The ink in my pen profusely bleeding out words and stories from my past that shaped my present and makes me anticipa...
