A game,
For two years.
Thats all I really was.
A play thing,
A toy,
To smash around like pawns.
A little green soldier,
Fighting for my life,
Because all I had was you.
You made me weak,
Unstable,
I ran into your arms,
And when i was strong,
You left,
You knew your game could go wrong,
So you didn't have me for anything but playing,
I could've accepted that,
But when you turned around and told me you cared,
I was a turtle on my back
YOU ARE READING
A Public Poetry Diary
PoesiaA poet is only as good as their muse, All of mine happen to bring sorrow.
