A thing I want to say
on this cold day
is that my life
is like molding clay.
How do people ****
the purest of love?
Doesn't it hurt,
the pain in the nerve?
"For better or for worse,
'till death do us apart"
Words are enough
to break my heart.
Did everything for you.
Still why me? I ask.
But my love was stored
in a shattered flask.