I have no friends, for they are often trite
I have no truth, for the lies help me survive
I have no stories of my own, because I prefer to hide
I have only you, the author who died.
I have no truth, for the lies help me survive
I have no stories of my own, because I prefer to hide
I have only you, the author who died.
Post a Comment
Be the first to comment on this article!