This article is written by a student writer from the Her Campus at TAMU chapter.
And you take your words out on me
because you built me to be made out of steel.
But even the strongest metal breaks.
And the lightest feather sinks.
You visit the gravestone you placed
where my biggest dreams were buried.
And you leave a vase with flowers
that you purposely forgot to water.
A compilation of desires
that you now have turned into nightmares
lay down on that Victorian carpet
that you burned with indifference matches.
Leave the door open, so the wind can take what remains of my hope.
And close it when the warmth of the sun tries to come.
You hold me to let me go.
You make no promises but break them all.