She
I miss her so
And I want her to know
That although she let me go
I still show the love and compassion as fresh as a newborn doe
It's strange really how I made no impact on that kind of life.
With the scythe for death
She held a knife to my throat
Just ready to sink like a boat in the Atlantic Ocean
She held my heart on her shoulder
Like a boulder that she let free
But since she's not here with me
Then who will I be?
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: