Three roses making stew,
Two hands, mincing you.
Dark sky and faded blue,
a feeling, we once knew.
You'd burn me, cremate me,
then sniff up, all of my ashes.
When only you, held that key.
Laid locked in your eyelashes.
Every night, 3 am was like cocaine,
The Weeknd, hitting hard, my head,
like Cain on Abel's head, 'Go Cain!'
3 am addicts up unscrewing the bed!
"3 Am Addicts"
Drew Poetry
~Andy Mwalasha.
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I was once as clean as a newly hatched chic's beak, but you turned me into hell's doormat. Misery's doorbell on pain's bunke... -
Gone are the days that you'd rest your head on my chest and smell the scent of my ripe goosebumps, those days that I would lose count o...
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An all wrapping book. Our fore-fathers named it "Life". Well, we adopted the same name and so, we also call it "Life". A...
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