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Book of poems that are based off of my thoughts.
Someone died.
I cried.
But I didn’t cry because they were gone,
I cried because I was alone,
Because the someone that had to flee
Was me,
But not me in a way.
Not me they say.
Just part of me that got away.
I don’t believe what they say.
Since I was kind of the person that died
Was it considered suicide?
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