A myth.
That's what they told me.
You were not real,
No, you were just something I would read.
A picture in a book,
A fake story you tell,
Dear god, how do you face this hell?
YOU ARE READING
Oleander-COMPLETED
PoesíaALL RIGHTS RESERVED Her words were like oleander flowers, so delicate, like a gossamer spider string, but poisonous, like her scarred, despondent heart. *in other words, my crap poetry that is still really important to me*
Myth-35
A myth.
That's what they told me.
You were not real,
No, you were just something I would read.
A picture in a book,
A fake story you tell,
Dear god, how do you face this hell?
