They told you,
It scrawled in our history,
Fiction and films,
And trash glitter magazines;
That you'll always want,
What you can't have.
Yet, no one told me that,
what you want,
Gets ripped away.
The scars burn scarlet,
With a deep red ache,
Tears your soul;
Left unrepairably.
So bitter is its sting,
That I can't recall,
How sweet it was to me.
I knew the poison truth,
But still I laughed;
And took to it.
That naive child,
Why could the world,
Not change me?
YOU ARE READING
Shadows
PoezjaLife is constantly weighed down by its past. Every breath, every action, leaves an imprint of the world. The question is wether our memories will bring shadows upon our path, or will we ever simply stand in the sunlight?
