Sedated when I smoke,
every song feels like an orchestra calling out to me,
trying to distract the silence so I won't think.
A deep wound,
a little quiver when I breathe,
the weed helps me forget that I showed you the first song I've ever loved,
but I lay in a garden of new sounds you could only dream of,
new music to heal the deep wound you left in my soul.
-
Author:
Laguna (
Offline) - Published: September 10th, 2026 19:39
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 13
Offline)
Comments1
On a high and the loss of hope and that there is no fate. Well done
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.