Am I blessed to remember the pain that was inflicted in the past more so than the pain that awaits me?
If life is a living curse then why am I so fond of the one thing that makes me believe in the impossible
A lover for an exchange of heart
Behind a bitter kiss something sweet is formed
Behind every breaking point something becomes whole
A foundation built upon destruction to resurrect what’s to become of the future
Beauty is not what is seen
Beauty is more so the aftermath of what was destroyed
From corpses weeds are formed as the worms eat of what was left
From weeds they create many more alike