Thoughts, Never Words. (Poetry Collection)

Hipocrite.

Let me place pretty little plasters over the long red rivers decorated in your skin, while I hide the oceans printed on mine.

Let me be a safe space to flood your forlorn eyes with tears, while my dried eyes remain in drought. 

Let me hold you with love, in the arms that refuse it.

Let me give you hope, while being completely, and utterly, disbelieving in it.

Let me care for you, while I reject any care thrown my way.

I will die for you.