18/03/2016
The taste of your name
Is like rubbing salt
In old wounds.
It reminds me of a time
When I was fragile
And filled with so much spite;
My dreams once marred
By the metallic glint
Of your knives.
You suffered a lifetime
At such a young age.
You thought the world
Owed you a favour,
And you intended
To make it pay.
I pity you now.
Your stubbornness,
Your abhorrence,
And your sheer lack of faith
Prepared a deadly concoction
I'm ashamed I ever made.
I opened my eyes
When you never would.
I saw the beauty in the world
That you never could.
I only wish you could see
Just how far we've come.
I now possess the mentality
We used to only dream of.
YOU ARE READING
Charcoal Skies
Thơ ca❝IF I CANNOT WRITE OF MY WOES AND I CANNOT WRITE TO SAVE THE WORLD, THEN WHAT, DARE I ASK, IS THE POINT OF WRITING AT ALL?❞ A collection of thoughts, ramblings, and poems detailing the composite materials of a war-torn mind. Not recommended for thos...
