Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 2023
Through the nights, when I don't come home on time,

Peeking through the door, I see your hands wished they were in mine,

Your eyes go moist, and you nose turns wine red,

Sorry but I have this life,
That ***** with me ******* you,
That hates me loving you,
That loves me far from you.
Written by
Aryaman  16/M/India
(16/M/India)   
141
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems