White like the color of the dress she wore that day
For every look of disdain I'll never get to repay;
Fuchsia like the flowers on the white fabric,
As unpredictable as her persona of a brick.
I offered her everything I could, yet no friendship ever bloomed,
Seeing as she detested me, I should've known we were doomed.
White and fuchsia form a pale purple like the sky
Through a thick glass lens. It's just like our frienship - a lie.
YOU ARE READING
A phone book
PoetryA loose continuation of A Few Hysterical Words, this time focused on character descriptions.
