Poetry

[15/365]

Childhood by Kori | Written 1/15/17 @ 10 am

Trust is on the same level as perfection,

it doesn’t exist.

I had to find out the hard way,

that the monster that stood by my door,

had a beating heart, and human brain.

Certain words turn my mouth into rust,

I feel a breakdown coming on.

I’ve perfected my force smiles.

(my dead eyes give me away)

A charming black crow smirks,

dripping broken promises,

and speaking half truths.

It doesn’t get better after this. Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License. Featured Image: 1

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