No poetry comes to mind
Thoughts filled with frustrations
Regret
And a sense of defeat.
My feat was strong, heavy, and bold.
Not really concerned with the term 'old'.
More mature, more experienced,
More something.
Perhaps.
Considering the possibility of love was something like a trap.
I moved too slow.
It snapped
Onto me like I was a mouse
Caught in its final resting place.
Love will be the death of me.
N*
No comments:
Post a Comment