I was a piece of
Wood,
Raw and
Untouched,
And you were my
Sandpaper;
Grinding away
At my skin
And peeling at
My defenses.
And it hurt but
I'm a better person
Now,
Refined
And shiny
Because of that rough
Sandpaper
YOU ARE READING
Painful Truths
PoetryLife asked Death, "Why do people love me but hate you?" and Death replied, "Because you are a beautiful lie and I am a painful truth." (completed) Well. Poems, if you could call them that. Just rambled and rushed night time thoughts. Some of these a...
