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jurtin-albinePoems
The day loves it— To be loved. Everyday is a new love. Wondering when it can ever be enough... And that’s why it’s safe to say, That all the things in life are not just given away. We’re traveling home, As we roam, While at our heels kicks destruction. I’ve pushed them away— I come oh, so, close. A seat in the mind— I do not know, But I also don’t… Such is myself and I, Or her and herself— (Or everyone and everybody else.) And both in eyes… I can take a hint. I can fiend a disguise, One which won’t portray a goodbye, Or fill up the day in the life with lies. But often is enough to know That the safe to “says” That say, That every day is a new love. And that is still— Not enough.
0
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 5:05 AM UTC
Losing It Through Amusement
The day loves it— To be loved. Everyday is a new love. Wondering when it can ever be enough... And that’s why it’s safe to say, That all the things in life are not just given away. We’re traveling home, As we roam, While at our heels kicks destruction. I’ve pushed them away— I come oh, so, close. A seat in the mind— I do not know, But I also don’t… Such is myself and I, Or her and herself— (Or everyone and everybody else.) And both in eyes… I can take a hint. I can fiend a disguise, One which won’t portray a goodbye, Or fill up the day in the life with lies. But often is enough to know That the safe to “says” That say, That every day is a new love. And that is still— Not enough.
jurtin-albine
Written by
jurtin-albine
26/M
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 5:05 AM UTC
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