Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sep 2017
I miss the sound of crunching leaves, victim to our druken teen feet.
My soul aches for the way you used to look at me.
I miss the way you'd line up with the trees, smile at me and breathe in disease.
Almost as beautiful as the smoke in your lungs. I miss a lot of things, but I'll never miss what we've become.
Written by
Nyk  FTM/Toledo
(FTM/Toledo)   
217
   Dazed Dreaming
Please log in to view and add comments on poems