Anguish.
But there's an unevenness to my skin,
Where salted tears of anguish have fallen.
I've formed scars,
From the very words you've spoken.
Yet what tortures me each day?
Your voice never wavered,
As you whispered to me a final goodbye.
YOU ARE READING
We Called it Love.
PoetryA collection of tales written by a depressed poet. Inspired by the boy who promised he'd never break her. These are the faults in my heart.
