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Wiggily: The not-meant-to-be poem - ²
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The not-meant-to-be poem

You have made my rhymes drunk, And now they refuse to keep order. Youve squeezed me into a trunk, And dropped me at disputed border. Into your face I have smiled In the lamest possible ways, Faking perfection while You carried on with your days. Youve turned me into an actress, Sadly, a second-rate, The type who works as a waitress, The one whose job is to wait. 19.06.2017

ID: 738528
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: 20.06.2017 02:14:13
© i: 20.06.2017 02:14:13
Wiggily

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, 20.06.2017 - 03:48
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