Then I ask you one question. Yet I'm scared to know the answer. The answer is always different each time. Sometimes the answer makes me happy but others it hurts a bit. What are we? Answer truthfully and don't worry about hurting me. I can handle pain. I can handle the scars. This numb I feel I'm use to. So again I ask what are we?
YOU ARE READING
Horrible poems
PoesíaThis is how express myself. I hope you enjoy. Warning some of these can be depressing.
