I realize
He thinks his thoughts are useless.
He thinks,
He has no light left.
I stay,
Because I see it.
I see the brightness he can not see.
I see the smile he tries so hard to hide.
His red stained hands do not frighten me,
Or deceive me.
Instead,
They taunt me,
To wipe them clean,
But I must be careful,
Because if I rub a hidden scrape,
Just slightly to hard,
He'll turn his back from me,
And rebuild his wall of pain,
And I will be stuck,
On the other side,
With a broken heart of my own.
YOU ARE READING
A Poet's Love Story: A Poet's Collection
PoetryLife, Does not wait, For you. It stirs your emotions, And reforms them, Into wings of flight, And it tests, Weather or not, You will open the cage, And allow yourself, To give up, Or if you will keep the wings calm, And continue to live, And underst...
