Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2017
and you walk around with a soul in your pocket all the while. the whispers breathe like smoke. we're all so many lonely suicides. some nights the radio is always on but still we hear the wolves, pacing just outside the door. as she held your hand, you leaned in close. he'd burn in a town without fire, she said. mark her words. i've been wandering towards salvation ever since.
Written by
Please log in to view and add comments on poems