The way you talk.
The way you walk.
It ticks me off.
You see me and scoff.
Well I don't care.
And you just flip your hair.
I walk away.
You sway.
My blood starts to boil.
Your hands coil.
My blood spurts.
Your head hurts.
It welcomes me; death.
As I take my last breath.
More than you did.
You went off the grid.
Because of the guilt.
And the blood you left on my quilt.
We were friends.
But I guess everything ends.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
شِعرSome of them are from my own experiences, and some are not. Good luck trying to figure out which ones are what... ;P
