Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Aug 2014
Your perfection is an illusion.
My faults are real.

'Trust' is the stitching
that holds my fragile
parts together.

Whispers of what we share,
like confetti in a breeze,
cannot be recovered
once carelessly set free.

Don't release me to the wind,
I beg you.

Written by
Antonio  Chicago
Please log in to view and add comments on poems