Walking alone on this crowded street,
On the way home from a lonely trip,
Snow falling heavy and cold on my feet,
The sky looking blacker, the stars unlit.
Tears blurring my sight of the road ahead,
Fast falling on white ice with every step,
With nothing waiting but an empty bed,
Your last words swirling inside my head.
With a wistful smile I remember the time,
You thought me as pretty and I thought you looked fine,
So we wrote down a story that's now no more than lie,
With flowers and hearts as our opening line.
Playing soft ballads on your old scratched guitar,
Sharing sweet secrets on rides in your car,
Exchanging hot kisses as we slowly catch fire,
Till I'm blind to everything but a deep, dark desire.
Love is the name of one fine summer day,
When among clouds of white you hid me away,
You played on the strings 'til I lost restrain,
' Til I clawed at the sheets and cried out your name.
Love is the name of your rigged dotted dice,
Which turned this to games of sorries and lies,
And hoping to find you I find this instead,
Her clothes in your drawer, her perfume on your bed.
Untying the ribbon that bound all your cards,
And letters that told me that I had your heart,
And watching them all burn along with my shame,
Cause love's also the name of your sick, dirty game.
My friends always tell me to find someone new,
But in every new face there are traces of you,
I try not to drown to get back on my feet,
But the sea where you tossed me was just way too deep.
Months turn to years but I'm frozen in time,
Still reading letter by letter, line by line,
The story we wrote that's now no more than lie,
With flowers and hearts as our opening line.
YOU ARE READING
The Story We Wrote
PoetryCollege was the time when she fell in love, with someone she thought could never love her back. Little did she know... Act I: Just Like That, Everything Begins Scene 1: Last Night's Dream Scene 2: Amorte Scene 3: Unrea...
