The hurt, it lies in broken words, in angry words, in bitter words.
I've tried but I can't seem to purge, the idea of your broken words.
The hate is bottled up in scars, in old scars, in stomach scars.
The hate is shaking at the bars that hold together stomach scars.
The hurt has turned to unshed tears, the hate is back, despite our fears.
I'm sorry for the all the wasted years, I think it's time we shifted gears.
Cry those tears.
Unmask those fears.
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1 comment:
pretty good, though, for some reason i felt as though the poem was sort of incomplete... is it just me?
Jay
DatMoney.com
DatCurious.com
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