They ask us to write a simple string of words and not to sing a song,
Chosen few, left struggling silent, a sense of agony prolonged,
A flickering flame to steal away the air and take inturn my soul unburned;
left bereft of spoken thought,
My fingers for me whisper fiercely,
Release in pain silent words wrought.
Feb 25, 2020
Feb 25, 2020 at 7:31 PM UTC
I don't understand myself.
And for once,
I think that's ok.
Because I love you, and you love me, and that's enough.
Jan 3, 2020
Jan 3, 2020 at 3:09 AM UTC
It is a unique form of self torture
To visit a place you once called home
And to be met with only the unknown.
This was my home.
I don't want to say goodbye again.
Dec 24, 2019
Dec 24, 2019 at 7:15 PM UTC