To that lass

Third poem

You’re so young,

And already so broken. 

Your little tired lung,

And those thoughts that been unspoken. 

I  look in the mirror

And see your broken eyes. 

My mind getting clearer,

When I see that he dies. 

You can’t tell anyone 

Even if you die. 

Because all you can do

Is just cry. 

You feel so useless and sad.  

But I see that fake smile.

Maybe you’re so mad,

But I love that style. 

You’re holding that glass,

But please don’t drop it. 

You’re  just a pretty lass,

But you’re too shy to admit. 

You can’t tell anyone,

Even if you die. 

You’ll see the sun,

But only if your eyes get dry. 

Don’t cry

Don’t be shy

Just let them dry.

You my little lass.