She never said it.
All this time, she said nothing.
Nothing was said, why?
YOU ARE READING
her gloom
Poesía"I am you, one day out of five, Tired, empty, hating what I carry But afraid to lay it down, stingy, Angry, doing violence to others By the sheer freight of my gloom, Halfway home, wanting to stop, to quit But keeping going mostly out of spite...
Mother
She never said it.
All this time, she said nothing.
Nothing was said, why?
