People come
They tell me to do this not that
This is right and a fact.
I not get much trouble by stranger
What more hurt is hurting
The people who say
There care
The people who surround us
From January to December
Every hour of the day.
But at last they left you
With those broken promises.
That forever
Which become never
Reason is am stupid
Am not that clever
Reason is am boring
Not interesting
Reason is am not genius
Just try to be one.
At last they left you
With those Broken promises .
YOU ARE READING
Macrocosm
PoetryDead part of me write . Dead part of me is a poet . Dead part of me fight . Dead part of me is a boet. Dead part of me fly.. Dead part of me don't lie . Dead part of show . Dead part of me not hide .
