he collects broken hearts,
she burns them
he prides in his sadness,
she hides hers
he braces the cold,
she loathes it
on the edge of the line,
he is content
at the end of her fall
she has a voice, not her own, screaming and sobbing with sympathy for all
YOU ARE READING
Feeling Indigo, how about you?
PoezieJust a thing for random stuff that sometimes go through my head. I think most of these are my failure attempts at a poem but I can't really write anyway.
