FIFTY-TWO
beside the smolder of the fire
And when it comes through,
you'll know it.
The smolder of the fire inside
has died down, and your smile
is stilled.
Wait here, the hopeless
are waiting for the sun
to rise again.
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May
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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...
