Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
May 2019
33
I ran from you as fast as I could
Bitter wormwood on my tongue
Like a violin unstrung
What is my purpose
Was it on purpose?

To think that we could stay the same
My burning cheeks, my hidden shame
I still am wordless
Written by
Z
Please log in to view and add comments on poems