She tears herself like paper right in front of me.
Fickle and fragile, I don't think she's free.
I had hoped for a while things would have changed for her.
But alas, not really, is her doomsday near?
I observe with a worried mind.
My pounding heart ceases to subside.
I worry and worry because she's still hungry.
Fickle and fragile, I don't think she's free.
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YOU ARE READING
Don't Cry
PoetryA collection of poems :> WARNING: implications of physical and verbal abuse, violence, and slight descriptions of panic attacks.