I can’t…not anymore…
Don’t give up, not just yet.
Look at me; my arms are filled with scars
Scars, they’re meant to heal.
I can hear them whispering behind me
They wouldn’t even matter, years from now.
I can see no light, maybe there isn’t one
It will soon come, just trust me.
-o-o-o-o-
do you, my dear?
YOU ARE READING
tacenda: a book of poems
Randomtacenda (n.) -things better left unsaid... so I write them down, instead. just a bunch of poems i made. cover made by me
