She reached out after words of hate.
Misunderstandings filled the house.
Calling to someone. Someone. Help.
But the phone beeped twice, and no body came.
More yelling. Of how she's her's.
Her daughter, not THAT one's.
She prayed for someone. Someone. Help.
But the phone beeped twice, and no body came.
Her music could no longer drown it.
Her ear plugs could no longer hide it.
Her tears could no longer stop it.
Her phone starts ringing.
Someone calling back, wanting to help.
Waiting, ringing, waiting.
But the phone beeped twice, and no body came.
YOU ARE READING
Roses Are Red
PoetryThoughts are weird and seldom shared. When they are, they can truly be beautiful. Here you will find a series of some of my deepest thoughts that people rarely see.
