the way he touched my hands
gifted to me, his affection
and shared with me,
him.
all for it to be fake.
a lie.
it's not him who tells me it either.
it's our best friend
who speaks the cold blooded ash
of rejection.
i'm not as fragile as
a non modge podged puzzle
i promise you.
i can take it.
YOU ARE READING
circles of life - poetry
Poetryjust random poems i've written, trigger warnings will be provided when needed of course
