How can we be so alive,
Yet I still see her,
Sink into herself,
Hold her mind,
Away from me,
Pull her thoughts,
Her soul,
Away from my grasp,
And I cannot breathe,
When she leaves,
Broken,
Not whole.
How could she have made me whole again?
Yet my beautiful,
Flower has grown with me.
Has picked off my thorns.
Yet I cannot get close enough,
To pick off hers.
YOU ARE READING
Wilted
PoetryShe couldn't see him, But she was all he could see. Raw Poetry, by: Mae Ethlyn
