Until the Death of Me.
And you'll be the death of me...
Make it so if you'll take it,
Like it's your own.
We fell asleep with the morning,
And woke up in a nightmare,
Rushing to put our clothes on.
What's Love without a little
Turpentine and hate?
I wreked it all in a letter,
Two big ales of complicate.
👁 1💬 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.