He writes me poetry, and he puts roses on my bed.
When he looks into my eyes, he makes me smile like nobody else can.
When I write about our love, the rain starts to pour.
Maybe it's perfect scenery or just tears from the angels above.
Mama disapproves, and my daddy doesn't know that his little girl is not a darling girl.
She does things she shouldn't do.
But I can't help the love affair. It's just something I can't control.
There's just something about things being off-limits that intrigues me more and more.
YOU ARE READING
Bleeding Rose
PoetryThe pen bleeds the words my mouth does not utter. If I show you my heart, would you proceed with caution? I was an innocent stepping into the game of love. Someone should have told me that all is never fair in matters of the heart. Dive into this th...
