Her heart was wounded

‘Cause she knew her heart was right and she wanted to keep being wrong. She wanted to be herself all the time. She liked herself a little drunk, a little broken with rough edges and bloody cold eyes. She loved her wild thoughts than books as they haven’t haunted her like her head did. Heart, was the poetry to her and her head was the demon who romanced her. She was the light to others and dark to herself!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s