Two pretty pieces
Both laying on the floor
Two pretty pieces
All covered in gore
Two pretty pieces though I'm glad it isn't four
They're two pretty pieces of my heart of which you tore
Do understand. At times like this I find it hard to speak
When you said you'd be there always I didn't think you meant a week
And now my insides boil and my soul leaks
Everywhere I look, my life is dead and bleak
Two pretty pieces
Both laying at my feet
Two pretty pieces
Sick of such deceit
Two pretty pieces though I'm glad it isn't four
They're two pretty pieecs of my heart that you tore
YOU ARE READING
Poems I Almost Burned (Along with My Sanity)
PoetryWhat starts with a sandbox and ends with an epigraph? My first collection of poems.
