Isn't it sad that some of us mistake punches for romance, and the taste of blood for love.
***
You broke me open and made your self at home in my chest. Now my heart has stopped beating and I can't breathe with the weight of you sitting on my lungs.
***
Even when I've drunk enough to forget who I am, I still can't forget about you.
***
When you found me, I was simply black and white. I learned to love, as you coloured between the lines but then you left, leaving pieces of me untouched, still only black and white.
***
An unfinished masterpiece is beautiful all the same.
YOU ARE READING
Confessions of a shitty poet.
PoesiaSome 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.
