There were so many things I could have done
So many things I should have done
But I threw away my chance of staying safe
When I reached for the blood stained blade
YOU ARE READING
Hiraeth.
Poetry(n) A homesickness for a place you can never return to, a place which maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past. Collection no.2 --very old poems--
