Sometimes,
I weep.
Sometimes,
I seep myself,
In heat.
In hate.
In love.
Sometimes,
I fall,
Sometimes,
I break.
And sometimes,
I pick up my pieces,
And put myself together.
But then...
I break again.
And sometimes,
My pieces break too much.
And I can't put myself back together.
Sometimes,
I create,
A new image of me.
A pretend me,
An okay me.
And for a while,
Sometimes,
It works.
But sometimes,
Most times,
Sadly,
It doesn't.
YOU ARE READING
She.
PoésiePoetry, scenes and short stories written from the fingertips of a girl who doesn't know her own heart. She's filled each corner with love and light that she thought was pure just to watch it rot off and fill like a gaping dark hole. But these heartb...
