Poems from muddyme123
Your silouette was an outline of time, as if time had decided to develop a tongue to speak only in shadow, only of shade. I've never met...
There’s an odd beauty to the fact
that whenever I hate myself enough
and feel the need to force myself to throw up
I know that all I need...
They speak in broken English and they lie with silver tongues,
They swallow down old whiskey and they smoke away their lungs.
They cursed...