Who were you to dream of me? You were born and raised in hell. I'm tired of fighting fire like you.
Paradise is fragile.
You take and take. You took everything you could get your hands on.
Who am I when I have no more to give?
You sounded like a crowded dinner. Smelt like home cooking.
Your Secret ingredients are bitter and they are also the ones that walt this linoleum floor.
YOU ARE READING
Glue Bound Glass
PoetryA compilation of cryptic, mind playing poetry. From the simplest nothing to heartfelt hatred.
