My love,
Your heart.
The Suns flares,
The moon’s phase.
Your oceanic eyes that carry the storm.
My temper that will end us.
The flowers you gave me, dry.
Fundamentally,
these were all of the things that would make me cry.
Holding onto my last hope,
I watch as the flowers finally die.
Feb 13, 2020
Feb 13, 2020 at 8:01 AM UTC
My love,
Your heart.
The Suns flares,
The moon’s phase.
Your oceanic eyes that carry the storm.
My temper that will end us.
The flowers you gave me, dry.
Fundamentally,
these were all of the things that would make me cry.
Holding onto my last hope,
I watch as the flowers finally die.
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