It's Autumn in my soul,
And my leaves are withering.
Little by little,
I'm growing tired of spreading,
My branches to the ones,
Who seek shelter,
For only a little while.
I want time to stop,
So I can see you,
For a while longer.
YOU ARE READING
Scourge: A Poetry Collection
Poetry"I have Scourged your soul, While you drew on me, So intricately. All I can ask for, Is forgiveness, Which I don't deserve, Anymore." Scourge: A poetry Collection
