Behind closed doors:
You can't see,
You won't see,
The music plays on in infinity.
Hand-painted masks,
Empty flasks,
Shredded paper; undone tasks.
Here, nothing is dry,
No, you won't see her cry,
If only, if only, she wasn't a lie.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for the Broken
PoetryJust poems I write in my spare time; I hope you enjoy them. Most are about depression, overcoming a past relationship, and anxiety. (There is a bit of a story line, and will have a story to compliment it out soon!)
