The Ghosts of my past.

January 19th, 2009-Rose

I glance at the unopened letter;

At the untouched, dying rose.

I touch my reddened, tear-streaked face.

Because I’m not the girl you chose.

I do not want to cry anymore.

The tears keep seeping down.

I hug my knees, ignore the world,

But I utter, not a single sound.