Bitter is the morning after,
tilt my head back and
drink it away.
Listen,
but
do
not
ask.
Questions start a blaze,
pictures begin to flood.
Confusion lingers.
Behind me he whispered a
sweet symphony of love.
But then
It was I who was
Manipulated,
Betrayed,
Deceived,
Used,
Played,
Exploited.
YOU ARE READING
Losing Me
PoetryThat's not how it works in real families. We have to stay together a tight little bunch. Oh, but never mind me. You kept leaving. I watched you leave...
