the waves are vanishing your footprints
my ash refuses to fall from my finger's grip
you humm me to sleep by the sea breeze
what is fresh air, if it's not your smoke that i breathe?
beer bottles are empty in your camping chair
inside are the memories i devour
underneath are the sands of despair
it would take dozens for me to shatter
my sanity into glass smithereens
drunkard like a father
but i don't do this to forget you, love,
i do this to remember.
YOU ARE READING
Less Than Three
PoetryLess Than Three is a bunch of poems -some about love, loneliness, some about nothing. Just thoughts, feelings, and whatever came to mind. Read it all at once or flip to a random page. No rules here.
