A dark cold gun has been pointed at my heart.
A knife has found its way through my trust the 100th time.
The cruel hands of memories squeeze my brains neck.
My heartbeat spits in the face of my pride.
Telling it to run or just...die.
And all my innocent eyes can do is watch and cry.
YOU ARE READING
Miss Independent's diary (Her unreserved feelings)
PoetryNothing much,just my diary written in poetic language....Leave a vote if you like a poem or relate to it lol
