She never learned to colour
Between the lines.
She only knew
The beauty of chaos.
She was a wild soul,
Free and wonderful.
They were thorns,
Jars meant to capture her spirit.
They tried to keep her,
To force her to stay between the lines.
She rebelled, trying to return to her world.
Where she could be free, happy.
They crushed her spirit, though.
Crushed the colours out of her.
Until all that was left.
Were the lines.
In plain, boring,
Black and white.
YOU ARE READING
Bleeding Hearts
PoetryI write, because I am.// Too many emotions, // Overflowing, // As my heart bleeds // Words onto paper. // I write, // Therefore I am. ------------------- Cover credit goes to @WattAnOtaku OHMYGODTHAN...
