Debra"... would you give him this, from me? An old friend."
Why would I do that? Clearly it means nothing to anyone but you. Do it yourself.
"Of course... I was being rude by asking in the first place. I hope you can forgive me. Goodnight."
What pain have I cause you to treat me so?
I have and had no means for pain.
Is it you, yourself, who wields the gash left "no"?
Madame, your anger shows by your pulsing veins.
With much zeal do you attack those with your venom.
How else does one make sense of the senseless?
You deny me, us, him... them.
Aching does my heart dispel in her caged cavity.
What I have done...
is what needed to be done to protect my loved ones from
my fire of love-
turned ashes of grief.
Poetry by Sarah Parnes
Read 697 times
Written on 2015-08-08 at 05:55
Tags Debra  Ashes  Grief
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