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Nothing
May 16, 2015
What am I suppose to write when
other people's songs have become my
memoirs
when I no longer have any more adjectives
to express how sad you're making me?
What am I suppose to do when
I can no longer cry alone and
my metaphors are completely legitimate
when it all happens over and over again and
I can't prevent how badly the world will hurt me?
I'm actually sitting
right beside you
three feet away
in a highschool somewhere
and you're looking down and
you have no clue
how beautiful you are
and how close I am
to crying.
© Nicole B., Newcastle, WA
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