she says i tried.
she says
we
tried.
she understands
how addicting
something
can be.
she shakes her head sadly,
and i want to hug her tight,
and tell her
it's all alright.
but,
i don't know
what clouded world
she's been fighting.
i have
no right
to comfort her.
YOU ARE READING
clouded
Poetrycigarettes, to the broken soul, are what advil is to an aching head. an escape from all pain. -- best rank: #974 in short story
