Each day as evening starts to set
The ache builds in her chest
She knows that she must go to bed
And try to get some rest
She hugs her tearstained pillow close
When no one is around
And cries for one she was and lost
And screams without a sound
Others see her in the day
And think she's doing well
But every day as evening sets
She enters her own hell
Time hasn't healed her pain at all
Or quieted her fears
So every night, alone in bed
She sheeds those silent tears
-Midnight poet
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Hey guys!!!
Today your author is at a lost of feelings.
U know!!!!
Sometimes even an understanding
heart gets fed up of
understanding.
Don't mind guys...
Today your author's mind is a battleground.
Pls do vote and comment!!!
YOU ARE READING
HER
PoetryShe is art in a beautiful museum we recognise to be this world. Although she was beautiful, sophisticated and captivating, not every one cared to appreciate that. 𝓐𝓷𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽'𝓼 𝓸𝓴𝓪𝔂
