It must be the worst, you know, emotionally detaching yourself from someone whom you've revealed your veiled wounds to, someone whom you've allowed to hear the cries you buried at midnight.
It must be the worst, disconnecting from someone whom you've authorized to see where your kill switch is, trusting they would never touch it, and watching them push it anyway.
To protect someone, as they inject you with poison in return. To bleed from the hands of the person you loved the most. It must be the worst.
YOU ARE READING
POETRY THAT STAYS
PoezieYou don't really love someone, not until they become the person behind of your poetries. When poetry speaks, it echoes through your soul, lingers in your heart, and dances in your dreams. And... it stays. I wrote poems enough for people to ask, "w...
