It’s late, and I’m still thinking about you.
”I am addicted.
She is my bottle of vodka.
She is my cookie crumbs.
She is the eighth colour of my rainbow.
The colour that’s everywhere,
Except inside the rainbow.
She is my three A.M.
The three A.M. pain I write about,
And the three A.M. calls I don’t make.
She is my happy ever after.
The happy ever after in a fairytale,
In those tales for my three A.M. kid,
In those stories for my four A.M. demons,
In those lullabies for my five A.M. drowsy eyes.
She is my sushi.
She is my ‘one eyelash – one wish’.
She is my 11:11 ‘Wish, please come true’.
She is my cigarette.
Here’s the fucking problem.
I’m addicted.
And she’s my nicotine patch.”
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This poetry sums it for the frustrations I too have felt long ago but it ends and life is great again!
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very visual . nicely done
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Beautifully penned down 👏
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Thank you, Sanskriti.
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I know this feeling. You have written it well. I have 2 am calls that turn out to be 3 am disappointments only to return again and again…never ever leading anywhere good.
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Snaps fingers to this.i enjoyed it and was beautiful
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Addiction to girls….not good, actually no addiction is good.
Now talking about the writing of the poem, liked the structure, the wording, everything my man.
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Yeah, man.
Thanks for reading.
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Wow. I love this.
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Such a simple piece yet expressed everything that needed to be.
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