69 plastic roses to my love.
For all the wonder she does to my heart.
Never a tear drop to fall from her face.
Never ashamed of my mistakes.
Never to fall from grace.
Like a saint she is.
But the paper heart is written.
With spit and remorse.
Never again.
Never again to fall from this vanity.
She isn't real.
Only in my dreams does she seem like she'll ever be real.
My obsession over her.
Like a drug to my veins.
Addicted.
Abused.
Changed.
Dead..
Now in the mist of the night...
68 plastic roses burn.
Ever so bright.
YOU ARE READING
The Meloncholy Diaries
PoetryThe Saints are misunderstood childhood friends who are seeing the world as what they want to be and through a sinners and a Christians point of view. They are all based on my creative saints. Still Ongoing though. List of the saints: Dreams Saint Ha...
