squeeze me out like a lemon
make me into pure,
maybe something less of fighting for
make me taste sweet
with a little something nice
the sourness drips from tongue
as you bite down
turning me into something I'm not
Not something I hoped for,
just peachy now
Rosy, tasteful
Is there much too
I wish I could've been that lemon
YOU ARE READING
My Unstable Poetry
PoetryA diary of sorts. 2015-2017. A poetry collection of angst, depression, and epiphanies.
