you are not mine,
but sometimes
i pretend that
you wish you were
i create this idea
that you secretly
want me
and i often forget
it's just something
i've made up
you do not want me,
and you are not mine
YOU ARE READING
deadroses || poetry
Poetry"we had a vision though, now we dead roses" now, why did she send them? these broken down, wilted, beat up, rotten-looking flowers.
