Just four letters
Draw a line on the paper of life
It can be erased
But the crease remains
They mould us in their way
And we remain to be a stone
Which can be broken but not mended
Their game is strong
It could be won or lost
But not cheated
You call it LOVE
I call it HATE
-K
When you end up becoming pessimistic due to those little things that weigh a lot on your life
YOU ARE READING
Inside My Pockets
Poetry"To be a poet is a condition, not a profession" - Robert Graves A book that contains all my midnight thoughts in form of something more beautiful than a regular text and taking out all the pieces of this soul in bits after all these time of suppres...
