I could've died
if pain were knives,
if sorrows were daggers,
and tears were blood.
This time, I won't pretend.
I am weak and I need a savior.
YOU ARE READING
Overdosed
PoetryA collection of poems. From the heart. By the fingers. Through the mind.
Day 142
I could've died
if pain were knives,
if sorrows were daggers,
and tears were blood.
This time, I won't pretend.
I am weak and I need a savior.
