Death
He wishes me dead, as I lay there in silence.
The leaves have fallen, the flowers have withered.
We are cold as the winter.
Eyes holding no passion, not a single emotion,
As words become nothing, but lies and reasons.
This was the afterlife of love,
This was death, in the presence of Aphrodite.
YOU ARE READING
TEARDROPS
PoesíaJust Words. Random words that cut you deep. This is my world- and I'm a broken piece of artwork.
