i have seen you one time since it all happened. you were sheet pale, blonde hair of yours bright, the type of hair that looks almost bleached when it never is. i was close enough to know that you smelled like peaches or pomegranates. you smelled like the farmer's market, something you love so much. your face was red, it always has looked like you powdered yourself with the bits strawberries.
i went home from that event early that day, scratched my arms until i saw blood, punched walls until my hands screamed the forgiveness that you will never give me.
i'm sorry. i'm sorry. i'm sorry
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
This Is Where You Learn to Move On
ПоэзияThe random thoughs, the missing pieces of puzzles that I will never click together. Bits and pieces that won't end up in a manuscript. Highest Ranking: 16 in Poetry cover credits to the outstanding @eccentriphilia
