Trust Is Falling Into Someone's Arms, Them Not Letting You Hit The Ground. But You know What?
You Let Me Hit The Ground.
Now, I've Broken Countless Things, You've Left Me With Scars, And My Chest Aches From The Impact Of It All. Now, I Can't Trust Anyone Else To Carry Me. We Were Hundreds Of Feet Off The Ground, Looking at The View, When You Dropped Me. Every Inch I Fell, I Kept Loving You. I Kept Believing In You. But When I Reached The Ground, I Broke. My Breath Caught, And I Went Still. Everything Hurts. Every Scene Blurs. Until I Lay Motionless, And Dead. Fallen And Broken. No Life In Me.
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Comments about this poem (Trust by Grizelda Padilla )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(7 May 1861 – 7 August 1941)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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