Somebody lent me a shirt
It was their favourite thing
They trusted me with their heart
Such value it seemed to bring
The t-shirt is tired and worn
I choose my old shirts instead
I carry a feeling of scorn
For the trust that hangs by a thread
The shirt is stained through my care
My choices created a hole
I see the damage laid bare
There is no value in me at all
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Author:
A piece of luggage (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 16th, 2026 13:49
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 2
Offline)
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