The small paper swans
In hues of gold and blue
Are the last things I have
To remind me of you
They all seem to turn
Staring at me
Mocking my life
And what it used to be.
You were the one
Who taught me to smile
But since you grew distant
The swans lay in a pile
Watching me lay on the floor
Lifeless and dull
From their warm home
In the trash bin that's full.
I don't know why their existence
Still haunts me like this.
I crumpled them up.
Was there something I missed?
I hear them shift.
I see them turn.
Their blank, dark gazes
So cold and stern.
As if they've turned against me
Like everyone else.
As if they're judging me
From the highest shelf.
Wait, shelf?
I don't know how they got there.
I swear I threw them away . . .
YOU ARE READING
~|:|~Poems~|:|~
PoetryJust a few poems I put together throughout quarantine because I had nothing better to do with my life. Quick warning, some of these deal with dark themes and mental illnesses, such as suicide and self-harm. If you are sensitive to these sorts of top...
