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Poetry: Bitter Poetry
A Gift Wrapped Mess
by Willaim Sheene

Love me.
Or use me.
Which way was this trap supposed to go?
We made a home together.
Through the sadness of our fights.
Slowly watched our faces cast on the glass of once glowing lights.
Happy sights that I though would last forever.
You said you'd try.
I believed you.
Now look where we reside.
You at your new girlfriends house.
And me by my families side.
Funny how a simple telephone call.
Began this hidden craze.
How convenient it is that when you call me up now.
You use the same to mask your shame.

 
 
 
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