She wears a little grown
Her body feels so cold
Soaked up by the water
Like the stores -untold
Here and there with some scars
Her hands so violet
It's the end that she chose,
It's too late to regret
Her eyes are wide open
That look she has is sad
No desire to live
She chose to be dead
YOU ARE READING
The Fear of Drowning Deep
PoetryShe was beautiful in the way a forest fire was beautiful something to be admired from a distance not up close. - A little talent is a good thing to have if you ever want to be a writer. But the only real requirement is the ability to remember every...
