Here I'm sitting and crying sad tears.
Being quiet in my room, making sure no one hears.
Little by little I fall apart.
The torture is slowly breaking my heart.
No one can tell me when it's going to stop.
Here I am, over and over again, listening to my own sobs.
YOU ARE READING
The art of being empty (poems)
Poetrylife is like a circle. everything comes back at us.
