My memory has served me well that even on the day you left me, all your words that were made perfectly of a fireball which nailed on me forcefully, still linger on me. It lingers like a fragrance I first smell in a department store and only caused me in fumes of hypersensitivity.
Now, I am playing a new playlists to eradicate the ghosts of us. My throat gets dry, as I soak myself into my wet pillows. I am used to it and I hate, that I still have hundreds of questions, left unanswered— by you.
—PrettyMira18
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
A Poetry of Emotions
PoesiaIT'S NOT ABOUT WHAT A WRITER SAYS. IT'S ABOUT HOW A WRITER SAYS IT, TO MAKE A READERS UNDERSTAND IT.
