Bloody teeth, evil eyes, stronger will, is this was awaits me?
There words are weapons, what do I have?
Glares are a bomb, rumors are the bullets, whispers the guns.
(What's my advantage?)
I'm already wounded, can't you see my blood, my tear stained face? Do you see, or simply not care? I know it's the latter, but the pretending lessens the pain, or sometimes hurts the most.
You're
killing
me, can't you see? Words do hurt, they do you make you weak- just look at me.
AUTHOR NOTE-
SO SO SO SO sorry for not being on in like forever!!! LOOONNNG story! Thanks! :D
YOU ARE READING
The Lonely, The Broken, and The Misunderstood
PoetryThis book is for the lonely, broken, and misunderstood. Or for people who simple want to see, what's it like in the head of the øu†çås†. BEFORE YOU READ..... *I must say, before you read if you do,this is the ups and downs of my life. Or, well, so...
