Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2019
These sleepless nights, with nothing spent done.
These hopeless fights, where no one has fun.
All my feverish lies, to show what matters.
All my fiendish cries, to find why the rain patters.
Our endless sighs, to sleep once again.
When we’re mildly surprised, to see what actually comes,
Of us,
Of then.
Bobby Dodds
Written by
Bobby Dodds  17/M
(17/M)   
152
   --- and Fawn
Please log in to view and add comments on poems