I'll call.
I know I will.
But I pray, for once,
that you don't answer.
Because your voice,
a gentle whisper through the phone,
telling me again that you no longer care,
is the last thing
my heart will be able to take.
Please don't pick it up.
You know what I want.
You know you can't give me it.
Don't tell me
what I already know.
YOU ARE READING
Maybe Mondegreen
Poetry"Her night was wasted away on people who live in the day" Free verse, word spill. Poems from a teenage girl about heartbreak, love, sadness, and hope. [[COMPLETED]]
