I find it queer, to think that you
We're once my reason
For doing everything.
My clothes, my interest
My life.
And now, we hardly talk.
Periodically, a "hello."
Sometimes, "how are you?"
I thought I had moved on
Far beyond your reach.
But I turns out
I'm still in your grasp.
Struggling to be free.
Fighting to walk away
From you.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryA collection of self written poems. Please do not repost these anywhere, these mean a lot to me and are very personal.
