There is a stabbing whisper;
I can not shape or tell:
A dream of desperate comfort;
A poison in the well.
No sleep of feigned acceptance,
Nor state of 'morrows dead,
Makes me less of an addict;
Can't take back what I said.
And through the hallowed peace time,
I dance and beg in turns;
Please won't someone just love me?
You know;
I never learn.
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Author:
Quemis (
Offline) - Published: June 19th, 2021 00:01
- Comment from author about the poem: ...
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 45
Offline)
Comments1
I really like this, thank you for sharing
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