Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 29
Three
chests heave-
in the dark,
Breathing throughout
Each exhale.
The soundscape
adopts
a sleepers tone;
As
the clock's
      Tick tock,
Counting each second;
Becomes infinite-
The midnight's
metronome
Insues...
"What we've become is the price we've paid to get what we used to want".
Heavy Hearted
Written by
Heavy Hearted  28/M/Toronto
(28/M/Toronto)   
Please log in to view and add comments on poems