Underscore

We drive
Matching
Black cadillacs,
But you

Throw the
Dirt
At my face.
I never

Asked
To be
Something
To confess.

You
Toss me
Aside
Like a dead

Flower.
You used
To care,
But now

You'd rather
Have the
Trash
You know

Than the
Treasure
You've decided
To hate.

Reviews

[Wandering Minstrel]

This is a beautiful poem!!!