Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2019
Leaving a trail for
the game of **** in watery eyes
for sane surrender.

*

That was a fake turn,
when you slipped from the edge
of enduring pain.

*

Like first raindrops,
I was going to wet your brows
to write my hurt poem.
Written by
Satsih Verma
97
     Sukanya Sinha Roy
Please log in to view and add comments on poems