I used to have a way with words,
I’d tell the world what I less preferred.
Now I stumble on every sentence,
As if my sadness became dependent.
I could cry black ink all night,
And now my eyes are dry as white.
When my life began it seems I ran
Into the arms of a gentle man.
Pain estranged and hopes not needed,
I fear my love hath finally bleeded.
About the Creator
Lillith.Poetry
My writing, my poetry, it’s chaotic. But it’s the chaos in thoughts, words, and the scribbled letters in torn journals that brings me tranquility.
I’m just a poet who is obsessed with words that mean more than what they read to be.
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