That same boy with the blue eyes, ugly shoes, and soft lips.
I'm just sick of that beautiful god damn smile.
I'm sick of hearing his fucking laugh and knowing that someone else is causing it.
It makes me so fucking sick.
I'm sick of that damn hand waving at me; the same hand that held mine and kept it warm.
I'm sick of those piercing blue eyes looking at me from a distance not meeting mine. Because those are the same eyes that I looked at after his lips took my breath away.
I'm sick.
So sick.
YOU ARE READING
Memories
PoesíaThis is probably just gonna be a book full of sad memories to look back on my life. Like a journal that I post for everyone to read.
