i knew when i saw him
i hated him
i would look in his eyes and see
the despise
the lies
the scarred wounds of the many guys
that had buried him before me
and when i looked at him
and i felt sorry for what he had done
what he had become
sour; he was the definition
of the lonely hour
though i hated the boy
he gave me joy
i guess as the winter fell into summer
i saw his grey turn to colour
and i finally could see
i had begun to love me
YOU ARE READING
paradise.
Poésiepoetry album six. your arms around me it smells like home, like footprints in the virgin snow. 10th August 2019. © 2019 Billy Waugh
