I lost a friend.
These are cuts that won't mend.
She was loved by many.
And known by plenty.
But sickness was all she knew.
Each day she barely got through.
Her bones were brittle.
Her lungs unclean.
I begged and I pleaded "what could this mean?".
Death stood knocking right before she turned seventeen.
Death was at the front door begging for her key.
Cure Cystic Fibrosis 💟
Please become an organ donor❣️
Rest In Peace Mo Mo🐷🌸💜
YOU ARE READING
Excerpts From A Book Ill Never Write| #Wattys2018
Poetry©2017 By dallywinston1738 or Annaka Logue or Annaka Marie ||All rights reserved.|| ||Plagerism is punishable by law|| These silent thoughts were stuck in my head. Wanting, begging,pleading to be let out. They never ended up becoming more than a few...
