It was eleven forty-three.
We were drinking tea.
I was staring at you, and you at me.
I began to stare at a wall.
Just as you started to stall.
The thoughts in my head did the same.
They won't tame.
I wish they would.
We might be friends if they could.
The clock strikes twelve, and you leave,
I'm stuck here to grieve.
At four, I begin to disappear
No longer are you here
As it may seem
It was all just a dream.
YOU ARE READING
Lemon Seeds | A Collection Of Poetry
PoetryLife Lemons And a little bit of everything inbetween -Enjoy- Warning: This poetry, like a lemon, can be sour, bitter, and make your eyes water a little. Ingest with caution, and don't forget to spit out the seeds.
