A Riddle Poem by Edward James
A Riddle
Rating: ★2.8
I told you this,
And now you’re ill.
With sharp confusion,
And morning chill.
You’re unmoving,
But breathing still.
You’re thinking deep,
Never to spill.
The backward thought,
Of the wrong response.
I smirk through,
You’re long pause.
Until you conclude,
That you don’t know.
And I clearly state,
“I told you so.”
Wednesday, May 7, 2003
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4/19/2024 2:42:55 AM # 1.0.0.1119
He only managed to find humour in the 'I told you so' As if becoming close to someone only causes pain, cause they all die and leave you alone in the end, called it a riddle?