the cut that always bleeds, ᴄᴏɴᴀɴ ɢʀᴀʏ, 00.46
you hadn't the guts to fight for me,
yet what a brazen display of jealousy!
only now when a different solider cocks my gun,
you act as if you don't know the reason why i had run.
---
you know? i once made a promise to myself that no matter how tired i was, no matter how hurt i was, no matter what, i'd always go home to you at the end of the day.
you always fight harder when you're fighting a losing war. i never realised that no one would ever fight for me the way i had fought for them -- much more the way i had fought for you.
YOU ARE READING
[14] - monday's child.
Poetry𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘶𝘱𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘯, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘴. original poetry i wrote at fourteen.