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She was lonely,
She was dying,
Drowning in a sea of broken promises,
She never left crying.
She was broken,
Her heart betrayed,
As she never whispered her misery,
She built her own grave.
For hours and hours,
She cried in vain,
Revealing her scars that no one saw,
When she suffered the pain.
Now there are conclusions,
The world still draws,
With their own theories,
No one read the truth,
Buried in her diaries.
This is not just a story of one girl,
There were many hidden tales,
Still to be unfolded,
There are many stories,
Need to be told without getting moulded.
YOU ARE READING
In the mean time [ A Poetry Collection ] #wattys2019
PoetryThe book contains the type of literature that conveys a thought, describes a scene or tells a story in a concentrated, lyrical arrangement of words to communicate with your inner world.
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