He was always perfectly cracked
His imperfections always seemed to be laced with gold
Maybe that is why I could always look past them
For he could always make my problems disappear with a mere smile
But I never quite exceeded in doing the same
I never realized how truly broken he was
Because I was too caught in trying to be perfect
-but it was always for him
YOU ARE READING
Bleeding Ink
PoetryI will not pretend to be a poet. I simply lace letters into words, words in verses and these verses are my feeling which have slowly bled through the pages of my notebook. This is my "Bleeding Ink".
