TWENTY-SEVEN
withered into shambles
You leave without any notice.
Not a crease from our bed left in shambles,
not a sour note from our bowing floor.
I try to trace your footsteps,
but you've covered your tracks.
― like you always do.
Who is the person you go to when you need to smile?
𐎀 My boyfriend & my best friend are my favorite people ♡
May
YOU ARE READING
𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 ➙ 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘺
PoetryMELANCHOLY | Melancholy drips from my fingertips. Here, I will speak the sadness, the heartache, and the decaying for all the unspoken. Perhaps under this layer of melancholy, the girl I once knew still exists. First poetry collection i...
