Whispers again and whispers down the lines
I look above and i cry at a monster
Hands around cradle busy the demon dines
My eyes close but opened something old
Yes please just the espresso
My server brings a cup laced in gold
Enjoying Columbia's finest black
Fuck me are the chances this plane lands
Missed seatac to die in arizona sands
-
Author:
Kessler (Pseudonym) (
Offline)
- Published: June 27th, 2025 10:33
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 25
Comments4
Here I catch rambling thoughts on a trip. Wonder what's in Arizona. Well done
Fantastic
Excellent write
Enjoyed the read
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.