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Posted on Fri, Feb 21, 2014 02:34

 

 

Doubts were the roots of your destructive pull 


Which split us into two cells.
"I never meant to hurt you" is the rule
Between those that break soft shells.

But I am not soft or delicate
Just innocent and yes, hurt... Hurt.
Numbers and rules were your predicate
The doubtful suspicions in the pocket of your shirt.

I wrote you a letter once upon a time
It sat on your shelf, but now, not there,
It lies in a cell like it committed a crime
By telling you of the love most rare.

"You're wrong" you told me once,
Like a playground fight from your younger days,
But then "liar" pierced my heart like the lance,
And so - I left, left you to your new ways.



bubble

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