How could they forget,
Every hug we let,
And every moment we regret,
How could they move on,
When my heart is all alone.
How could they survive,
While I'm dying to have a life.
How could they not cry,
When all my feelings have ran dry?
YOU ARE READING
Poems.
PoetryI believe, writing is artistic. Every time you hold a pen, you make art with the ink in that pen, a beautiful drawing. Writing can express a lot, more than you can imagine. Without writing our existences are meaningless. So everyone should take the...
