I remembered the time I got her a gift.
To her, it was all a joke.
They smirked at my act,
Suffocated my thoughts with their devilish laughter,
Pointed at me with fingers like knives.
Even though no one pays attention
I could feel the cold glares
Emerging from their demonic silhouettes.
Silenced in my room,
Isolated from society,
Why should I live?
YOU ARE READING
Stages of Sorrow
PoesíaLife is an act. Love is a lie. She's a Fraud. Now my heart is broken.
