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MetamorphosePoems
I trace my fingers Through the cigarette smoke That dances from your lips and Creates a veil in the sunlight - A moment of quiet, magical bliss From your silent self destruction Should have been indication Of what was to come.
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Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 11:37 PM UTC
Smoke Screen
I trace my fingers Through the cigarette smoke That dances from your lips and Creates a veil in the sunlight - A moment of quiet, magical bliss From your silent self destruction Should have been indication Of what was to come.
#smoke#memories
Metamorphose
Written by
Metamorphose
25/F
Apr 18, 2019
Apr 18, 2019 at 11:37 PM UTC
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