There are lies carved into your skin,
Echoed words pressed deep within.
Do you love them? Are they your own?
Seeds of deceit so carefully grown.
Or do you trust them? Each word
Echoed in yourself, meaning unheard.
Tell me, if you dare to truly believe
In your own lie, will it still deceive?
You're a type of poetry all by yourself.
Rich if empty words were wealth.
You're so full of beauty and trust,
But thin by wear and frail by rust.
YOU ARE READING
Scattered Ponderings
PoetryA single note, it reads *Remember to write something profound here* (cover credit is to @adnali - if anyone's reading this, check out her stuff, it's so good) (spn & fandom is marked in title)
