*I feel that I am a false lover
whose hands were not made
to cradle broken promises
and love shared as a theory,
an ironic arguement as to why
I find myself still here.
I fear the fatality of my position,
perhaps that is the cure
to this romantic disease;
the feeling of loss too great
to bear for a fourth time
despite the discontent lingering.*
Feb 8, 2011
Feb 8, 2011 at 12:09 PM UTC
*I feel that I am a false lover
whose hands were not made
to cradle broken promises
and love shared as a theory,
an ironic arguement as to why
I find myself still here.
I fear the fatality of my position,
perhaps that is the cure
to this romantic disease;
the feeling of loss too great
to bear for a fourth time
despite the discontent lingering.*
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