You didn't have bread.
I tore mine in half.
You didn't have a roof.
I slept without one.
You didn't have a penny.
I gave you a dime.
You didn't have a bed.
Or a pillow or a blanket.
You didn't have love.
I poured out a bucketful.
You didn't have memories.
I made some for you.
You didn't have a smile
I pulled the corners up.
You didn't have a life.
I shared mine with you.
You got used to it.
And so did I.
And one day, we both realised-
You didn't have a heart.
And you raised the hammer.
YOU ARE READING
Salt And Ink
Poetry(#1 in Poetry 14th November 2015- 14th December 2015) (5th in What's Hot- Poetry, 20th January 2016) Cover picture- grunge (WeHeartIt) "Prepared thus to close, he raised his knife, Death came later; he was stabbed by life." When my ballpoint buckles...
