My books were creased at the corners,
the front covers tattered and battered,
there were pages ripped out,
and there was a drought,
the papers devoid of words,
empty of birds that sing of emotions,
and the poems I wanted to play on,
were stuck in this old piece of ruin.
— I'm terrified of the emptiness
of this heart of mine
- Counting Sheep
YOU ARE READING
Fairy Dreams
PoetryIt all started with you... *All poems are created and owned by me. Should anyone use my material without permission, it can lead to severe legal disputes and potential infringement claims*
