You see me
as my petals
drip
down
in front
of your face
or as I
fall down
from the sky.
from my safe
branches.
You pick me up
and you
put me
between pages,
so you could
keep
the memories
to yourself;
making me
drier
than ever.
You don't see
that the life
is still
being
seeped
out of me,
while I
am pressed
between
two dry pages,
as I am
fading,
little by little;
making me
one of the faded,
one of the
forgotten
and making me
gone,
gone,
gone?
YOU ARE READING
Poetry
PoezieJust a book of poetry that I've already written and some poems that I've recently written that I'll share. They're not in order, so warning, haha. Poetry is just where I feel like I can really be me and be real and where I can really talk. ~ ~ ~ Co...
