To be tethered to a lover is a dangerous game.
A cord of boundless strength winds deep,
Between the flesh and blood of the heart.

When stress rises in you, so too in I.
When depression grows within one, it becomes two.

And yet happiness too, does bloom.
Though not today, nor anytime soon.

We live on the fringe of happiness, my skinny love.

We live on the promise of maybes or never.

I’d sever the cord, if you could be free.
Though we both know that could never be.

This story has been written.
Now we play the parts.
We suffer in the moment.
We live for tomorrow’s maybe.
Time will liberate us.
So it shall be, so it shall be.