A choked sob escaped her lips.
Yet, she was unable to differentiate tear, and stream of water from the shower head.
In that moment, after a long while, she fell into the stereotype:
Depressed teenagers that cry in the shower.
This thought just drove her more to the brink of temporary insanity.
Everyone's problems are different.
Whether it be an abusive father, or a break up.
They all afflict the same pain.
Gut wrenching,
Heart aching,
Chest tightening,
Pain.
It's all there.
So she leaned against the wall
And let the salty droplets mix with the fresh stream.
YOU ARE READING
you killed my flower
Poetryi hate the way your eyes can manipulate me. poems about his eyes and other things.
