Here shall lie the artistic heart of a star who knew better than to expect much of men.
And their butterfly heart and mind unseen once bountiful now fell spent.
Though year after year she'd pine for another she knew more than anyone then,
That those whom you covet often love and forget,
You should know better than to expect much of men.
(A book for those flowers wilted by loves who pick instead of water.)
![](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/269010949-288-k115722.jpg)
YOU ARE READING
Sincerely, Star.
PoetryThis is a collection of pieces of my artistic heart, and all the beautiful and terrible emotions that make up my being. Or something.