I long for when you didn’t care, had torn up jeans, and messy hair.
I need the sting of sex on strings.
I need it like it’s air.
I hate the place that you’ve become,
The place no eagles fly.
Turn back the painful grains of time,
And live within a lie.
If you’re not really gone,
If you’re not far behind me,
If you’re still in my hands,
Then tell me why I’m pining?
These are the flickers and the shades that make me hate the sundown.
This is the end. This is goodbye. At last, this is the comedown.
YOU ARE READING
Poems I Almost Burned (Along with My Sanity)
PoetryWhat starts with a sandbox and ends with an epigraph? My first collection of poems.
