Her Poem by Brianna Wilshusen
Her
When she comes,
I grow sad.
Her thoughts,
She hates me.
I can hear her mind,
She wants me to die.
I frustrate her,
Torment her soul.
Fake is she,
Friend guess not.
Betrayer,
Killer,
Monster inside.
Enjoying my grief
Enjoying my pain.
No longer her friend,
I shall be.
And all her hopes,
Turn to fear of me.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
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4/23/2024 11:11:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
