May 2016
I have mastered the art of the unrequited.
flowers inside me blossom at the sound of you,
I hear the echo of footsteps inside my heart
and how beautifully tragic it sounds,
how it beats for the ghost in
my aching heart.
flowers inside me blossom at the sound of you,
I hear the echo of footsteps inside my heart
and how beautifully tragic it sounds,
how it beats for the ghost in
my aching heart.
romanticizing the hell out of pain. I write deeper that way.
