She's woefully unmade,
Struck down by her own hand.
I long to stop the blade
But am trapped
By walls of her own making.
Can she hear my cries
Or see the tears
That fall on emptiness?
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 5:19 AM UTC
She's woefully unmade,
Struck down by her own hand.
I long to stop the blade
But am trapped
By walls of her own making.
Can she hear my cries
Or see the tears
That fall on emptiness?
Request permission to use this poem