Slowly,
I have begun
to cut the strings
that attached me
to the doorbell
outside my house
and the keys
in the ignition
because
I cannot stand
to wander past
the frame of
the front door
and continue
to loathe
whatever pieces
I lose
beyond it.
YOU ARE READING
Once, We Lived | Poetry Collection Completed
PoetryA collection of poetry from the high-school years of an semi-angsty teen with too much time on her hands. This is an exploration of the different facets of life and the perceptions of a teen of the 2010s with a knack for words. Warning: contains con...
