Learn more about other poetry terms

Night’s existence has inhabited it’s customary frame of space, which has been allotted.
  Dearest Love.
I sit in a grease sweating Chinese take out box, but some call it an airplane seat
I can’t go back,
See a kid from high school like all the rest he just wanted to be cool.  Wanted to be the best. He Smoked what they spoke, and drank what they wrote, 
Subscribe to TheSoundofRain