Pursed lips, bitter taste. He
Left his shadow in his haste. She
With a rendered heart, wished that she
Had never met him from the start. He
With quick feet, ran, when she
Had finally taken a stand. He
Never understood how he had been a bane when he
Never woke from his bed upon that dark, wet lane. Yet she
Still felt the tears slip down her face, for them.
YOU ARE READING
Scintilla
PoetryWords are limitations, words are freedom. How you use them, is up to you. > > p o e t r y b o o k < < Highest ranking: #276 in Poetry
