I was a chapter of your book,
Not too extended of a one.
You were the title of mine,
Even though I knew you'd be gone.
You finished the chapter.
I wish I burnt the book that instant.
It's sorrowful that I can't miss the old you,
The old you, that cared about me,
Cause you never did.
And why would you even return?
Or the question is 'how?'
Cause being with you was,
Being with someone,
Who wasn't with me.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
Sorry
PoesiaIf I had a penny for every time you made me feel worthless, I'd be worth something by now.
