I suppose you could say she was broken.
I suppose you could say that life didn't make sense to her anymore.
I suppose you could say a lot of things.
But something you couldn't say is that you knew she'd be alright in the end.
Scars lined her waist,
took up space on her wrists.
Yet every time she looked at him,
Her heart would skip a beat.
And she wasn't completely sure
if that was
good
or
bad.
YOU ARE READING
you killed my flower
Poetryi hate the way your eyes can manipulate me. poems about his eyes and other things.