| Poem: Submit | Random | Best | Worst | Recent | Comments |
|
Dedication (Other) by MissUnderstood Your words they sting,
the cut I feel,
the poisoned blade of hardend steel
rips right through my heart and soul;
Tears me up and leaves me raw.
I taste your anger,
feel your pain,
your hurt and sorrow
is my shame.
What I've done
I know won't mend
the shredded remains
of a treasured friend.
Up the ladder:
WHAT KIND OF FOOL ARE YOU?
Down the ladder:
The Roses
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 4.0
Posted: October 1, 2006 12:42 PM PDT; Last modified: October 1, 2006 12:42 PM PDTWeighted score: 4.880797 Overall Rank: 10285 The following users have marked this poem on their favorites list:
Comments:
121 view(s)
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
Are you killing yourself? If not, what have you done to mend the shredded remains of a treasured friend? At least, the way you've phrased it, you're implying you've done something _towards_ mending things.