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Literature Text
You whispered my name.
It still lingers here.
Ringing.
Ringing.
Ringing.
My ears are filled with this horrible sound.
Like the sound ing of the Seventh Trumpet.
Is this for You'r ears or mine?
It still lingers here.
Ringing.
Ringing.
Ringing in my ears.
I still feel your lips apon mine.
Like a thousand needles under my skin.
You'r voice still lingers here.
Like the sounding of the Seventh Trumpet.
Ringing.
Ringing.
Ringing.
I slit these wrists.
And i spread these wings of steel.
And after all this.
You'r voice still lingers here.
Like the sounding of the Seventh Trumpet
It still lingers here.
Ringing.
Ringing.
Ringing.
My ears are filled with this horrible sound.
Like the sound ing of the Seventh Trumpet.
Is this for You'r ears or mine?
It still lingers here.
Ringing.
Ringing.
Ringing in my ears.
I still feel your lips apon mine.
Like a thousand needles under my skin.
You'r voice still lingers here.
Like the sounding of the Seventh Trumpet.
Ringing.
Ringing.
Ringing.
I slit these wrists.
And i spread these wings of steel.
And after all this.
You'r voice still lingers here.
Like the sounding of the Seventh Trumpet
Every poem I submit depicts an event in my life, I'll leave it up to the viewer to decide what that is. Everything you read is true, and belive me, I've spent my share of night sleepless while chainsmoking and staring down at the scars on my wrists, wondering if i should try again.
© 2004 - 2024 dispare-embodied
Comments1
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I still feel your lips apon mine.
Like a thousand needles under my skin.
hmmmmmm I love that line...................
Like a thousand needles under my skin.
hmmmmmm I love that line...................