Things come, things go,
Things stay, things linger;
But either way they definitely wither,
Like the hope for flowers in winter;
So don't say plant seeds,
You can't water forever;
One minute I'm the apple of your eye,
The other I'm just another try;
One second you're in the center,
The next you've changed like the weather;
You'll cherish the sparkles,
But never the indents;
You said you wanted to touch the petals,
But do you want to touch the spiky stem?
Are you going to run away,
When you've cut your finger?
Or are you going to take a thorn,
And stab it in deeper until you bleed?
YOU ARE READING
Black isn't a Color ➵ poems
Poetry❝ Black isn't a Color, rather, the inability of light to reflect off. ❞ A collection of poems from the confused soul of an antisocial adolescent, who doesn't know where they belong, and where they don't.
