Of all the times you lend an ear and shared a heart, there was no convincing way I could believe you were capable. So good were the times. Free and wild in our craziness as I told you of my weaknesses. And you were the voice I relied on for support and raising up. But looking at the blur, dark image, so close yet so far, memories of sharp knives through my back as I relieve the tears of that bitter betrayal, I can't make out it's you. All the good times are clouded, and I can't seem to see through all, to the good times and sweet memories you made because this is bitter. This has knocked me out of breath. You can't do this. But thanks, I couldn't learn of who to share with hadn't you done this. I long for your shoulder, but scared of the knives
YOU ARE READING
Change thee
PoesíaLines of descriptions ( short pieces) It's all not about happiness, has nothing to do with revolving around the happy times. Difficult times,as weird as it is are necessary for their own weird reasons. They give no chance of options, you wake up jus...
