four.

66 10 3
                                    

sticks and stones may break my bones

but words will

rip my heart and

slice my wrists and

kick my knees and

clog my lungs and

have me lying on the cold hard floor

at three am

wishing you were the one to hold me and

not the one who told me them

(k.g)

heartache // poetryOnde histórias criam vida. Descubra agora