When the last remaining life between us died -- it was almost a relief
My bedroom was a graveyard
My body, the tombstone
I laid to rest knowing that all of your promises were lies
You only held on to our breath,
so I would never understand
how the visitors after you
would appreciate the beauty,
that you once took for granted,
and enjoy every bit of the flowers
that laid between these thighs.
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.
