It must've been a metaphor.
This one person bench,
calling my name,
mocking me.
I'm useless without her.
I'm an intricate doorframe;
beautifully handcrafted,
and carved of rosewood.
But as a door myself,
I'm missing a ****
I have seeping holes,
and my past left behind
brutally rugged scratches and beats.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 10:42 AM UTC
It must've been a metaphor.
This one person bench,
calling my name,
mocking me.
I'm useless without her.
I'm an intricate doorframe;
beautifully handcrafted,
and carved of rosewood.
But as a door myself,
I'm missing a ****
I have seeping holes,
and my past left behind
brutally rugged scratches and beats.
anything is a poem
