i dont know
what im supposed to do.
do i trip myself up
and fall out of love?
or do i stay,
writing picturesque verses
pretending not to see the lies
written across my face?
YOU ARE READING
blinded
Poetryshe was blinded by his perfection. he was too blind to realise. ☁ [copyright simile-, two thousand and fourteen] #140 in Poetry | #904 in Romance
