Since when did the sweet smell of flowers begin to only give me flashes of the forever fatal death?
When did simple happiness now only create anxiety and loneliness?
When did I -- the lover of love -- set forth to ruin the magic, not only for myself, but for any fool who had the audacity to step way into my storm?
W.P. Thighs
YOU ARE READING
Finding the Light
PoetryExplore a collection of poetry, written by a 28 year old woman, that is continually growing. These lines are working to be the therapy needed to push up from rock bottom and re-examine what true happiness is supposed to be.
