He told me I was beautiful,
His words deep like a pool.
He built me up with compliments,
And tore me down with abandonment.
I miss him dearly,
The way he brought a smile to my face.
I loved him really,
The way it hurt without a place.
He left me with a baggage,
My heart heavy with regret.
His memory is a leverage.
His ghost I bereft.
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Tacenda ➵ poems
PoetryTacenda (Noun) Things better left unsaid, matters to be passed over in silence. - all poems made by chantal horanstan//cinnamoniall-
