The days feel endless lost in space, music seems to be my only escape, the more he distances the further I have gotten, it seems to be if I pick up a silver pen writing crimson story's in my skin is the only real thing I will feel. Eat story tells the pain I have been inflicted with threw out the years , months, and days. No more love shall come from my heart for I am but I broken writer.
YOU ARE READING
His embrace threw his presence.
PoetryForbidden and shunned down upon by society's I am but a freak. But how can love be so dangerous if it is with the same as me.
