IT HURTS, I DON'T LIKE SHOTS. MOM, I NEED YOU HERE WITH ME, TO HOLD MY HAND, TO SAY YOU LOVE ME. LOVE ME. I'VE MISSED YOUR TOUCH, I MISS THE WAY YOU STROKED MY HAIR WHEN I HAD A ROUGH DAY AT SCHOOL. I KNOW THE DOCTOR SAYS IT WON'T HURT, BUT ALL THAT I'VE BEEN THROUGH MAKES IT HURT MORE THAN IT SHOULD. COME BACK TO ME MOTHER. I NEED YOU.
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EXPRESSIONS
PoetryI LIE IN DUST AND ASHES, my corpse withers next to you, my love ©2017 WREN #663, #503, #582, #475, #300, #294,#251, #210, #189, #158, #146, #234, #341, #405
