on a blank paper She burned the poems she wrote for him; he won't read them anyway. She wrote things her eyes can see, and succumbed to sadness easily. 0 followers / 14 words
I lie awake, an hour past two I can't sleep and I don't know what to do and so i wrote a poem about you. I loved you til self-destruction while you treated me like an option, I'm just another page in your book, torn and cut, you didn't bother to look.