xv. A MESSAGE TO MYSELF.
crooked teeth and broken dreams.
dead stars and lost hope.
a smile covering up what's left
empty and bruised.
when will you learn that bandaids
can't heal a wound that is rotting,
but can only cover it up for so long?
YOU ARE READING
what tomorrow brings.
Poetryxvii, april. (iii). you have no voice if no one is listening. © playlist poetry h.r. : #3
