Oh the messes we made

The troubles it caused

In the end I’m your slave

Held down by your awe

Head fixed on your binds

I go out to the fields

Clouded cotton-ball minds;

The work barely yields

But two too young lovers

Dripping passion, I bet

But behind clouded minds

Is that hint of regret

So part ways we must

I’ll wait it out till when

For in the end it’s just lust

And we’ll find it again

Written by

Writer, Artist, Poet, Dummy

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store