We have forgotten the tears we have shed
And only bear scars on the head
For that is were we tried to stuff our unwanted selves
Too bad such things couldn't go on the trophy shelves
For the things we didn't do
Won't exist now; true
But they could have been reminders of the path we chose
Just like the beast's dying rose
But instead we have monters that crawl out our eyes
And wisper to our souls our wost lies
YOU ARE READING
Words Of A Moth Drawn To Flame
ПоэзияMoths come and go, This one is lost so it stays, It talks to candles but not the moon, Lost in it's own creation's maze.
