Where to, our love?
What are we but childish flowers crowning around an adolescent's mind.
You but a memory upon many.
A burden above burdens.
I do not use,but pull you through my silver needles.
Gently enough to cause you least of harm.
I rather taste the lips of a porcelain doll than the dryness of a red string.
you however will always be apart of my quilt and she will be thrown quickly away.
YOU ARE READING
Raining
PoetryJust a bunch of poetry about the way I see myself and the way I see others.Just me speaking from the chaotic mess I call my mind :) enjoy!
