If we never speak again, remember that I loved you.
***
This isn't something I can just walk away from, even if I could, I wouldn't know how to.
***
I write stories about the colour of your eyes.
***
You stabbed me and then got mad when I bled on your shirt.
***
My hopes and dreams sit up in the clouds, waiting for me, but how can I climb so high when I'm so afraid of falling.
YOU ARE READING
Confessions of a shitty poet.
PoetrySome of my poems contain bad language/sensitive issues and therefore I have changed the setting to mature and issue a trigger warning. I am forever updating this book, it will probably never be finished.
