you were not much of a real friend
the stitches of the seam are torn
you were no friend at all to me
the black dress that I’ll wear to mourn
and for memories of what could have been
I find no future there
nothing left to wear
but naked lies
how you thought the truth could be so bend
how you thought that you could lie to me
it was something I had never seen
now I know to be aware
it is like waking up in Spring
the welcome of a finer day
awaiting morning birds to sing
the black dress taken by the storm
at last the rain will come and wash away
this pain and shape it in another form
I am over you in May
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Words have a dramatic in them