You were like pages,white as milk and I was a pencil with a sharp point. I wrote grammar of your beauty, equations of our love but that day, I hate that day. I made so many mistakes, keep on scribbling, cancellations. I forgot you always loved neat work. All these while I've been searching for that eraser, which could erase all my mistakes, scribbling and cancellations.But by the time when I found that eraser, I lost all those pages.
YOU ARE READING
P.s I'm A Writing Dead.
PoesíaPoems,one liners and quotes all written by myself. Give it a read if you want to wet your eyes. #66 in poetry(14-04-2016)
