7h
When will it be my turn ?
You live but I survive.
You drink but I sip.
You laugh but I cry.
Once love comes,
You devour it,
And I am left but with the crumbs.
So tell me,
When will it be my turn ?
For to survive is anguish.
To sip is to die of thirst.
To cry is to drown out of pain.
To be left with crumbs is to starve.
So you devour,
But love isn't yours to crave.
You live but I survive.
You drink but I sip.
You laugh but I cry.
Once love comes,
You devour it,
And I am left but with the crumbs.
So tell me,
When will it be my turn ?
For to survive is anguish.
To sip is to die of thirst.
To cry is to drown out of pain.
To be left with crumbs is to starve.
So you devour,
But love isn't yours to crave.
I hate this feeling of insecurity every time I share something I've written in a moment of sensibility. It's like sharing a peace of my soul, and it is terrifying.
