Rendering, breathless and grateful for nothing
Was this the end of it?
Wondering, what to do next.
Dying at twenty-seven does not sound too bad.
Cutting split ends with feathers.
wandering without your arms around mine.
Why do I feel like I owe anyone anything? Is this the feeling of giving?
Well, I don't like it.
Throw it away, I pity the promises that I made with you because I am not the same.
My words are harsh? Maybe it's because of the way you made me.
The colorful words that I use aren't so different from your actions, you made me suffer.
Rendering, pondering.
I hate doing nothing, so please don't hold me against anything.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Out Of Order
PoesíaPerturbed. Anxiety awaits those who can't distinguish between actions or emotions, therefore never implying what she thought was important. Animosity. Apart from her balancing on the tight rope, resentment tipped her over and down she goes. Deep int...
