My dreams are so unclear,
Seeped with nicotine,
And just flipped to bake.
And still, I just keep adding to all the smoke,
That has been covering it all up,
Hiding it away behind these dancing ghosts,
Slowly morphing to a ghastly white,
To fade away the colors.
Each and every day you remind me of what's hidden,
But tonight there's too much smoke in this room,
To tell the difference between the color of my skin,
And the color of my dreams.
YOU ARE READING
The Damning Of My Poet Soul
PoetryAnd all it took was one neat paragraph in pen. Enjoy some small teen me starting from like 2016 to like idk late 2018 I think early2019 I'm doing some rereading and retitling cuz numbers idk Thank you readers for over 4k reads. like is it good tho...
