It's strange.
Progressively faint,
Denouncing a saint.
It's strained.
Every smile forced;
A pain to paint!
It's a disdain.
To detach it from my veins,
Watching my affections wane.
It's a change!
Perverse propulsion, ***********
Into a new unwilling, unsuspecting
Star, sun, sky.
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 10:51 PM UTC
It's strange.
Progressively faint,
Denouncing a saint.
It's strained.
Every smile forced;
A pain to paint!
It's a disdain.
To detach it from my veins,
Watching my affections wane.
It's a change!
Perverse propulsion, ***********
Into a new unwilling, unsuspecting
Star, sun, sky.
From the hollows of her heart.
Request permission to use this poem