Warm hands, cold heart
No idea where to start
Some call me blind, some call me selfish
Their insults really are something to relish
For the pain makes me feel alive
A feeling I haven't felt in quite some time
We've become empty vessels, nothing but shells
Each of us trapped, in our own special hell
The pain is excruciating,
Though truly exhilarating
I've grown so used to their taunting words
That now words of a kinder tone are what hurts
YOU ARE READING
The Drabbles of a Young Mind
PoetryPoems made during fits of passion, or you know, whenever it is that inspiration decides to hit.
