I can see it in your eyes. You're not pleased. No. You're not even that close to satisfied. I can feel your glare overflowing with contempt. No. You'll never be pleased. You pick up that last piece of concern and let it die with your care. Your eyes are burning with rage. They've witnessed so many lies. You can't bear to see one more. So you turn away. Bumping every possible thing on your way. Letting it crash down to the ground. And you'd stare at them with no trace of sympathy. You're hurt. But you bury all that pain in anger. You divert that feeling and hurt everyone else instead. How could you do it? Making everyone else suffer with your selfish thoughts? Why would you do it? You're so much better than the rage you channel up to everyone else.
YOU ARE READING
Trinkets
PoetryIf you want to read without the commitment, this is the perfect book for you. You can open it and read a few excerpts once in a while, or you can read it in one go. The entries here have various themes which may confuse readers as it confused the wr...
