Woke up,
At 3 A.M in the morning,
Silently crying, whispering,
Raging and mourning.
My cheeks were wet,
My eyes were red,
I tossed and turned,
Couldn't go back to bed.
My heart ached,
My hands were numb,
What I had done,
I couldn't succumb.
At 3 A.M in the morning,
I scolded myself,
And remembered the gift given to me,
Love, a gift made all by themself.
I got out of bed,
Ripped the pictures of my wall.
I didn't have any second thoughts,
I let the pictures in my hand fall.
I looked at my reflection,
Bags under my eyes.
Anger from trying to make things right,
But failing with so many tries.
They trick you to reach out for their hearts,
So you love them with all your might.
Then they'll leave you, ignore you,
Leave you screaming through the night....
~!~Ana
YOU ARE READING
A Poem Is Worth A Story
PoetryDo you think something's not real, A legend , a superstition. Did you ever want an answer, A reason, an explanation. Stories could be fake, People could too, But it's not in our hands, To define who's who. Like how a picture is worth a thousand word...
