He didn't say anything wrong.
He didn't say anything at all.
As I cried and bled my problems away.
I'm sorry.
I suppose I broke my own heart.
It's my own fault for hoping.
My optomism got the best of me.
No one will ever love me.
How dare I pretend otherwise.
YOU ARE READING
Sometimes I Write Poems, Sometimes I Write Songs
RandomA collection of everything I've written to be posted on theprose.com. Between short stories and poetry, I think too much.
