He is a hypocrite.
He apologises,
Ever so often.
Yet,
He never means it.
And now,
It has lost its meaning,
That I can trust no one,
That ever apologises.
He holds my hand in his,
And tells me,
It'll all be alright.
He is a liar.
He lies,
Ever so often.
I look into his eyes,
Hidden behind glass.
I tell him,
It doesn't matter anymore.
I'm a liar.
I lie,
Ever so often.
Liars we were,
Liars we are,
Liars we will be.
We are similar,
Though we pretend we're not.
YOU ARE READING
Scourge: A Poetry Collection
Poetry"I have Scourged your soul, While you drew on me, So intricately. All I can ask for, Is forgiveness, Which I don't deserve, Anymore." Scourge: A poetry Collection
