An innocence never to be seen again
Crayons.
We'd sit back and color, any color we would use.
Color didn't matter.
We were happy and together.
Then we got a pencil.
The dull grey lead trapped us. Cornered us into a narrow way of thinking.
We started to notice the colors surrounding us.
We became corrupted. Split.
What is us?
It is only me now.
YOU ARE READING
My 99 Thoughts
PoetryJust a collection of original poems written by me as well as elaborated thoughts. Swear its not bad. Maybe, idk. Some suggestive themes so fair warning.
