It's high time you lose your grip on me
Even as your hands stay in the past
I always feel the ghost of you
Even as you still draw your breath
Do you really think you'll taste that golden light?
A blighted flower can only wither away
You rot my roots so that's where I will remain
But when the water turns ice-cold
I'll still wash my wounds alone
I will remember what you've done till I die
Even now in the night I still dream about the sight
Of your stomach twisted with a knife
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Among Friends Like These...
PoetryMy poetry collection of my personal works centering around developmental relationships that change your very person-- be it good or bad, or a bit of both. This collection also involves themes of trauma such as loss, neglect and abuse.
