Reading through my oldest poetry
That have only been seen by my eyes
Has got to be the worst thing I can do.
Old memories and thoughts renew themselves
In fresh tears and breath capturing sobs
Where was I when I wrote those?
What kind of hell was that girl suffering?
And why was there no help then?
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 1:52 PM UTC
Reading through my oldest poetry
That have only been seen by my eyes
Has got to be the worst thing I can do.
Old memories and thoughts renew themselves
In fresh tears and breath capturing sobs
Where was I when I wrote those?
What kind of hell was that girl suffering?
And why was there no help then?
