Apparently, I last edited this on 10, September, 2016. Couldn’t find it on the website, so here is more depressing Poetry.
I can’t take this anymore,
Through my cracks and;
Pores, I’ve started to break.
Like shattered dreams, I’m full
Of tears, blood and hopelessness;
Waiting to be purged.
Let the fire of our love set
Me on fire, while the flames
Engulf me, I shall be reborn.
But I was no phoenix, and
My tears could never meand
Our broken hearts.
Apparently I last edited this on 10, September, 2016. Couldn’t find it on the website, so here is more depressing Poetry.
The rough groves, moist yet delicate ran in to the smooth, slippery glass links only to shatter.
In one of the pieces I saw, a right hand jumping to the left ear through a messy lot of hair, to adjust the clip on copper ear jewelry. A wide smile, squeaky voice that sang, wavey hair, thin build, skinny body, innocent face and a broken heart.
And each piece had a different story and I’m scared to look at them.