Words, thoughts, like chords;
Sewn, printed, onto paper.
Works, strewn, unwanted;
Taken to ground like ashes.
Owners forgotten, children;
Stained, broken, like old dolls.
Worn, exhausted, crippled;
All to become their elders.
YOU ARE READING
Dawn
ŞiirA poetry collection from my writing days, words I never dared speak, that spilled into these lines. A poetry book detailing a troubled young girl and toxic relationships. Following her footsteps from hope and strength, to depression and despair. TW:...
