It's so hard
after nights and nights
of talking with you,
same time every time,
to not hear your voice
and only have the memories
from yesterday
to linger on
instead of the sweet rhythm
of your prefect words.
YOU ARE READING
Maybe Mondegreen
Poetry"Her night was wasted away on people who live in the day" Free verse, word spill. Poems from a teenage girl about heartbreak, love, sadness, and hope. [[COMPLETED]]
