Whenever I say that I'm fine,
there's a whole world crashing inside of me.
Just like a beautiful red flower being picked up and kept away from its home
my heart is ripped apart.
YOU ARE READING
The bleeding rose.
PoetryThis is a collection of poetry and prose.I write for those who were left in destitute,those whose scars and pain are left unattended. Come with me and explore a journey through words.
No I'm not fine!
Whenever I say that I'm fine,
there's a whole world crashing inside of me.
Just like a beautiful red flower being picked up and kept away from its home
my heart is ripped apart.
