Irony



You are my own blood, 
but I loathe you. 
You turn your face
and make merry when I'm in pain
I loathe you. 
When you tear the token 
of my sweat and blood, 
I loathe you. 
When you throttle the piece of my heart, 
I loathe you. 
The cold day of your end 
Will be the day of my relief, 
But I'll always loathe myself
for being your part. 

Comments

Post a Comment

My photo
Nidhi katoch
A silent observer in search of her TRUE HOME. If you like my writings, do comment and share... Views are extremely personal and are original writings of mine.

Popular posts from this blog

Token of memory

Speck of dust

Musings

The Day We Met...

Words

Talking in between the Silence

Connect me through Social Media