I always said to myself,
I will not give you the time of day.
But-
somehow-
I still hear you whispering across my pillow case,
"you'll be okay"
and so you steal my thought filled nights.
But this time
you don't pick me up.
You tell me that I'm on my own;
I'm hiding behind a screen just trying
to be someone
I could never be.
You will never have the time of my days.
But you will always have my mind.
YOU ARE READING
Bones
Poetrya poetry anthology of the thoughts, the feelings and the life within us, tangled around our bones.
