These roads hold our stories
The echoes of my ghosts.
The scars of my indiscretions,
My actions that lacked any judgement,
Any logic,
And I can never blame you for them.
Somehow a year of stories have burnt into my skin,
Carved lines into my body,
Slit words into my eyes.
I can still hear your voice.
I can still hear her heartless messenger pidgeon coo.
I can still hear my screams.
I'm so sorry to be so self centered.
I live you more than you'll ever know.
YOU ARE READING
Key To My Heart
ПоэзияThis isn't for anyone that will ever see it or acknowledge my existence. It's for two boys I've loved and lost, without the grim reaper touching them. I'm sorry for anyone who reads this. I love you all. P
