Sometimes I wonder if he holds me just to hold me,
or if it's to feel the fragility of a heart so mortal,
so willing, beating beneath his palms.
A heart so entirely his.
And the knowing that at any given moment,
In the same way that as carelessly as life is given,
he may just as easily take it away.
YOU ARE READING
𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋
PoetryThis love was cast cruel, this love was not kind. But in all, she still loved him. For with him, love was blind. Poems for the damned. If I am to be hurt, then so must you. Copyright © TheFallOfArtemis
