The love of pain to see again,
the novelty of humor,
I feel to never feel again,
the joy of late September.
If we were never to be so sweet,
The lovers of late noon,
My eyes would never weep as much,
In a sorrowful, desired swoon.
Joyous hate—
Just more alive to feel,
But this heart shall hurt no more,
Because it is not real.
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 11:26 PM UTC
The love of pain to see again,
the novelty of humor,
I feel to never feel again,
the joy of late September.
If we were never to be so sweet,
The lovers of late noon,
My eyes would never weep as much,
In a sorrowful, desired swoon.
Joyous hate—
Just more alive to feel,
But this heart shall hurt no more,
Because it is not real.