It all started with a Promsie.
A promise to stay or to protect.
We believe in Promsie, breath them.
Or do we believe in lies?
They are made in the belief that they can be kept.
Some are kept, if lucky.
Some aren't kept.
They are always made.
But do they become lies?
YOU ARE READING
my poems
PoetryI write poems off of my emotions. if you care to read them, go for it. if not its cool.
