Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 15
A song
A birthday
A book
A person
A love
A trust
A future
A memory
A minute

The point to this-

I numbed pain, but these thoughts were in vain,
Just the fading sunset on my face.

Fingers of death reach to cover my eyes, touch my cold face, and envelope the memory of all that slipped away.

All I can feel is hands.
How I feel when I forget the next song I want to play
Written by
Psych-o-rangE  24/M
(24/M)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems