I'm pressed and stressed, my
Heart
Pounds, echoes across the far-flung corners of the world
Where you stole away my heart, then
Dashed it against the ice of your own,
Beyond hope of recognition. I wish there was a chance
That a small fragment of me still clings to your cuff,
that you might still carry a part of me with you.
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 9:09 PM UTC
I'm pressed and stressed, my
Heart
Pounds, echoes across the far-flung corners of the world
Where you stole away my heart, then
Dashed it against the ice of your own,
Beyond hope of recognition. I wish there was a chance
That a small fragment of me still clings to your cuff,
that you might still carry a part of me with you.
It feels unresolved and unfinished. Appropriate, I guess.
