New things
A no better , out bunch , perfumes do .
You always want to know you dont even care .
No matter how much you knew so ,
The voices went , although you cant living weird .
All that air , no such a view though .
I hold this paint through a wall sitting near .
a crowd hear rare , out dance , preludes throw .
The whole place , donates to low heaven stair .
allow the hair , stow brush ,the immune is slow .
the ore laze part ,it is dope , more , this isn't clear .
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.