In a moment, my thoughts are erased.
I write helplessly, without form, format, wit, or grace.

I want someone to help me.
I need someone to be there for me.

It always me though.
Isn’t it?

I’m always there.
A rant becomes reason.

I’m sorry for being selfish.
I’m here for you…

Son of Sappho Poetry , ,

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *