Its Too Late (An Original Poem)

[mindfreak]

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This is a dead
summer afternoon
with leftover wine at
the kitchen shelf,
I am stale
memories of a lover
and you can smell
guns on my hands
from each time
I pulled the trigger on a what-if.

There is nothing
beautiful about an almost
or
anything wonderful about
carrying dead-weight.
Don’t tell me that it’s okay
because I know it’s too late

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Comments

[anik-hassan]

Great post

[mindfreak]

Thanks.

[inna-sirena]

it's very interesting...

[mindfreak]

Thank you :)

[sixshot]

Good read. Very deep.

I would love some feedback on my poem!
https://steemit.com/poem/@sixshot/alesia-poem

[mindfreak]

Thanks.