there was this girl who lived next door
her smile was as pretty as poignant petrichorshe always smiled as if she never felt pain
she was always bright and felt real and sanebut she came to her home with a different face
nothing sparkled in her eyes like a dark, dirty place.her mother threw dishes at her
her father thought her education doesn't matter.but she came to me the next day
thinking what happened last night can easily fade.but I knew of the noise that made her deaf
I knew that she wished inside she should've been dead.I waited no longer and told her everything
but she opened her bag and fished out a paper ring.she told me it was just nothing
a symbol of friendship, a playthingsaid she was thankful she met me.
said she's not soaring the sky and free.I told her she's loved
I told her about the sky aboveafter that we became intimate
"maybe meeting you after all was fate?"I laughed and almost cried
told her this was the best night of my lifebut after all the lies
I found her body in the house besideno funeral was held in her honor
no family was there to mournbut I was there wearing the ring
what's left of our love, our pretty playthingyears passed she remained in the stars
and here I stand who she left with scars.
YOU ARE READING
loquacious
Poetrylo·qua·cious /lōˈkwāSHəs/ adjective tending to talk a great deal; talkative. "never loquacious, Sarah was now totally lost for words" (photos in the book aren't mine. credits to the rightful owners.) 5 •7 - 10 • 29