Used_

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
What's the point of wings if you cannot use them to fly...?

Submitted: September 01, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 01, 2015

A A A

A A A


He bound her wings 

with all his lies

and stole the innocence

from her eyes

her took her heart

with nothing in return

and laughed in her face 

and she took the burn

he whispered dirty things 

in her ears

and she'd smile

to hide her tears

she was the canvas

to his blade

which he'd cut

to overcome the pain

she was his punching bag

(his stress relief)

and now she cries

because he made her believe

she was an object

only a cover

she thought she was more

thought they were lovers

but the cold hard truth;

he had nothing to lose

she lost everything

she was used.


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