Even when he spoke to me,
And the sun shinned,
And I could hear the breeze ruffle,
Through my hair,
And the birds,
Sang like they knew,
All the secrets to the world,
And he smiled at me,
And I felt different.
Even though,
When he spoke I didn't want him to stop,
And I couldn't wipe the smile,
Off my face,
And even though I spoke back to him,
And I liked talking to him...
I still wanted to die.
YOU ARE READING
Wilted
PoetryShe couldn't see him, But she was all he could see. Raw Poetry, by: Mae Ethlyn
