You told me that you didn't want soup
But anyway you were throwing in those red chunks of mad
Trying to make me feel guilty
I stood there, watching you through slits
Incredulous of the fact that you were making soup
Even though you said you didn't want any
Finally you turned the heat so high between us
The top popped open, all those red chunks of hot and mad stewing out
Burning our skin to char and smoking.
"I didnt want any soup!" you said, angrier this time.
I shrugged.
You asked for it.
YOU ARE READING
100 Peices of Me
PoesiaThis is a collection of poems that I've been writing since I was ten years old. They encompass many things that I go through in life, and many of my thoughts. I hope you enjoy it. Edit: It gets better as it goes, the first section of the book is fro...
