.spittin off the dock of the bay, wastin time.
whiskey filled serenades.
sweet, distilled, sugary defeat.
your breath smells like you’re disappointed in me again.
li(v)e your life away, stagnant and stale.
my soul wanders and it troubles me still.
sleepwalking my days into weeks and then some.
unaware of where the truth ends and my li(f)e begins.
i’ll be just fine my dear.
let my wrists and i figure this one out on our own.
i’m gonna get some sleep tonight, even if it kills me.
YOU ARE READING
Club 27 Has Reached Capacity - F. T. Willz
PoetryEvery poem by F. T. Willz I could find. Some of them are titled by me seeing as they didn't have any titles or dates to use as a chapter name, although every poem is definitely written by F. T. Willz. Enjoy.
