Often at night,
I think about how my soul
could be this sad and empty,
as if I already poured every satisfying thing
this life has given me
to someone who didn't even care,
that I have nothing left for myself.
»»»
YOU ARE READING
Dark and Beautiful
PoetrySometimes my thoughts and hand bleed so much poetry I can barely stop them from leaking onto the paper. But sometimes, too, my heart bleeds too much blood that I couldn't write poetry anymore.
