Was it real or all in my head?
If it wasn't, I want to be dead
The harsh blow of a wind too cold
Would look nice compared to growing old
This dream that I had was my life
Now that it is over I must sacrifice
I don't want to live if I'm not living like that
His head on my shoulder, my feet in his lap
Cuddled up, together forever
But my dream, reality did sever
And now I am miserable and alone.
k.g
YOU ARE READING
colorless
PoetryIn this instant, I see it all so clearly; while colors are such a vivid asset in his book of pictures, I have realized that the reason I do not fit in this title is because I am simply devoid of color. I am c o l o r l e s s. I am nothing but slathe...
