always voicing my pain,
never loud enough for you;
no hands laid on me
but my heart's black and blue
i go through these trials
but the only outcomes are errors
my faulty awakening
of when i became our repairer
i was always the handyman,
i plugged in any leakage;
yet when you drowned your sorrows
you deemed me as a weakling
and maybe you were right
in your intoxicated state of mind
maybe you held resentment
but i smothered it with affection
so i am indeed weak;
because i never know when to stop
i push and push and push
all until my clock tocks
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t h e b r o k e n o n e s
YOU ARE READING
sour hearts catered by hopeful souls | editing!
Poezjashe was a burned soul; inflamed by your euphoric lies believing that if she never told, she'd forget your soundless goodbye ▪▪ - LITTLE TO NO EDITING, FEEL FREE TO LEAVE GRAMMAR CORRECTIONS - | lowercase & no periods intended |
