Under the storm
You ran to me, panting
With blood stained clothes
And scars deeper than the night
As the silence that once bathes you
Took refugee some place else
Leaving you with agony to inherit
That no one could understand
The pain you've endured
YOU ARE READING
Purple Hyacinth
Poetry[First of The "Hyacinth" Poetry Book Series] I once wished that we won't wither. But I'm sorry, I guess those flowers were us after all.
