Perfect pretender,
You've left scars which stain a life time
You chose the colour; the pattern
And the victim: a blemished beauty redesigned
Blinded memories collide, and she's in the frame
A washed up waste, lying on the shoreline
We're stars that were never meant to align
So every time you call
I decline.
YOU ARE READING
Growing pains
PoetryA collection of poems I write when I'm bored. Am I procrastinating? No. Definitely not.
