Smoke
She was not afraid to let go.
She was not afraid to die.
She was afraid to belong,
For her fate she had yet to decide.
With her she carried guilt,
Along her she carried sorrow.
From which her hatred was built,
Yet she still hoped for a better tomorrow.
Igniting the light to her last cigarette,
She let the smoke dance off her lips,
She felt her hopes escape along.
The parted skin carefully rips,
What once had felt so right came to feel so wrong.
A/n: Just a small poem I have been meaning to write out.
YOU ARE READING
clemmie's writings and poems
Poetryjust some extra samples and some of my poetry ! all writing is mine, and all pictures (unless stated) are not, so credit to all the photographers ! (yes, the cover does belong to me) -clemmie
