i won't
write about you
but i won't
be in denial of you either
the flowers
inside my lungs
withered
by your doings
at first, i must admit
i thought you took
pieces of me
bit by bit
but i woke up
from the nightmare
of my own
lies in ensnare
realization hit me
in a rush of waves
should have been thankful
for the air you gave
i have been breathing
well now
thanks for getting rid
of the flowers somehow
YOU ARE READING
coffee stains
Poetrythe cracks on this cup still remains, its stains still unwashed.
