Partly, I blame myself.
I'll never tell you this,
but the night you came back
drunk off cherry vodka shots,
I saw you dying this way.
You slept in my bed and I curled up
against your back, told you over and over,
things are good.
Things are good.
It's my fault for not telling you the truth.
We don't talk anymore, because I don't know
what to say.
You told your mom you were fucking everyone in town
and laughed when she cried.
You're more high than awake these days,
feeding for anything to take this away.
You are so different from the you I used to love.
Things aren't good anymore baby, and no one
knows how to tell you.
YOU ARE READING
The sad side of town
PoesíaBasically this is a book of Poetry, quotes, love, hate, life, death, flowers and pretty girls, there will be lots of it and some I did myself. If there is anything you would like me to post about or add to my book, feel free to give me ideas or ask...
