It's All In My Head
It’s a disease,
These flashbacks of warm summer evenings,
A poem of small details,
Which only belongs to me.
The way you spoke,
Your fingers holding the cigarette to your lips,
The look in your eyes,
Which I believed to be meaningful.
Your arms wrapped around me,
Was a promise of love,
Or so I thought,
Before you bluntly cast me aside.
My lips could not utter words,
For I loved you too much,
Yet you mistook this for dullness of character,
Sharply telling me so.
I still dream of what could have been,
If only you would have realized,
That I could have made you immortal,
If I could have put my love into words.
Copyright © Night Prophet | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment