Fallen onto the sheets,
a gasp of air and unsure thought.
Too young to know,
too innocent to care.
Clinging to the fabric,
an effort to get up,
a dash for the stairs.
Something else is wrong here,
far off from the sleeping form.
Gold and black figures,
the distant haunt of dreams,
lights took away the times.
Secret hidden, safely away.
Escaped the ridden pain of hurt and discomfort,
rememberance in the most unusual of ways.
Is there a thought of me, ever at night?
Please tell me what you think?
Comments
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nice! I can't believe you're still around. I remember seeing you here when you were like 12
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