I thought that maybe I was right this time, believing in you. I even bought the seseame oil that you like to rub on my skin to make it feel untouched by any one else...but you. Once again I'm back to carrying your cross, and mine. They keep slipping from my shoulders in attempt to fall to the ground and be buried, like all the promises you made. But I still can't help but wonder if you are warm enough, and if you have your coat, it is October, you know.
Reason for writing:
Thoughts that should be dead...
Birth sign: Libra
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Megan.