Another drink,
Another smoke.
One more story,
One more book.
A long day out,
A night awake.
Two more songs,
Four more games.
Daydreaming again,
Creating stories in her head.
Dreading the moment,
she's alone once again.
“I’m fighting my demons,”
She says.
“I’m pushing them away.”
He shakes his head.
“My dear, it seems to me,
That you are running away.”
V personal + experimental
although i suppose everything i write at this point is quite experimental
anyway, I dunno. Just a poem about running from your problems. Hope that at least some can relate.