I can feel a storm approaching.
It comes in the guise of a lover's lies;
Favours bought and friendships diced.
But I do not hate him. That much I know. I am not making you choose.
But I DO hate, and I hate with a passion;
That soft-spoken pillow talk holds greater weight than the anguish you know I've drowned in -
That you would put me through it again because your lover holds your hands
And exaggerates.
I am cold. And my tears are the colour of moonlight.
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 5:27 PM UTC
I can feel a storm approaching.
It comes in the guise of a lover's lies;
Favours bought and friendships diced.
But I do not hate him. That much I know. I am not making you choose.
But I DO hate, and I hate with a passion;
That soft-spoken pillow talk holds greater weight than the anguish you know I've drowned in -
That you would put me through it again because your lover holds your hands
And exaggerates.
I am cold. And my tears are the colour of moonlight.
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