He loves me,
He loves me not -
I am destroying
A beautiful thing.
With each petal
Torn from its root,
I am destroying
A beautiful thing.
He loves me,
He loves me not -
He is destroying
A delicate thing.
With each twist of the knife
He left in my chest,
He is destroying
A delicate thing.
YOU ARE READING
Refraction.
PoetrySo many aspects, colours and themes make up our experiences. Truly, is anything entirely good or entirely bad? Upon weighing up the positives and negatives of the past, do we not admit that even tragedy is- in a twisted sort of way- advantageous? O...
