Lying on the swing,
swinging with the daisies.
Warm under the sun's dew,
warmer than his arms.
Smiling in content,
fooling myself to pleasure,
saying it just had to end.
Well, she gives him more
than I could ever be.
Lying on the swing,
swinging with the daisies,
letting go of me.
Finally cutting strings.
There will always be a part of me,
that never was mine.
He said, "the spaces between your fingers,are meant to be with mine."
Now, I'm swinging with the daisies
laughing at my fate.
Warm under the sun's dew,
warmer than his arms.
-Naman
YOU ARE READING
Me..
PoetryAll the things I want to say, but never could are in this book. This isn't for attention or sympathy from anyone. It's just me putting down my thoughts to get rid of 'em. Thank you.
