MidnightA Poem by Mary OchoaMidnight Bed never felt so cold Not my turn to spill Will it ever?? But hun, I feel Damn right I do At the end of that dial I let the beat of my heart And The ticking sounds Take over It's not my turn to spill Because this midnight You're on the phone with Her
© 2016 Mary OchoaAuthor's Note
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3 Reviews Added on November 4, 2016 Last Updated on November 4, 2016 AuthorMary OchoaCAAboutHello Writers and Readers! I am very pleased to be part of the Writers Café. I am here to simply improve my writing skills through my poems and short stories as well as to make friends with gre.. more..Writing
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