I used to think you were home
Until you shut me out.
Learned my fate was to be all alone
But I didn't cry or shout.
I was scared but had the determination
To find my own space
Until you called up glowing with elation.
You didn't mean to rub it in my face,
But here I am without a place.
My heart broke in two
And I was riddled with guilt
For who am I to be angry with you,
For what you've gained and built?
You were meant to be my home forever,
We weren't perfect but it held.
Had these silly ideas of us all together,
But that soon dispelled.
YOU ARE READING
Lachrymose
PoetryLachrymose /ˈlakrɪməʊs,ˈlakrɪməʊz/ adjective tearful or given to weeping. A collection of amateur prose and poetry illustrating the inner turmoil. Mainly a dumping ground for loose thoughts and ideas to be interpreted in whatever manner.
