With ****** knuckles, he returns each night,
A ritual of penance, a sombre rite.
The physical pain a salve for the emotional scar,
A fleeting escape, from the heartbreak so far.
His broken heart, a festering wound,
A constant reminder, of love disowned.
He seeks solace in the bottle's numb embrace,
A fleeting respite, from the memory's trace.
But in the morning, the pain returns anew,
A constant reminder, of what once grew.
And so, he repeats, the cycle once more,
A never-ending cycle, a painful chore.
For in the aftermath of love's demise,
We seek to vanquish the pain, in any guise.
But the wounds of the heart, they linger still,
A constant ache, an unending ill.
But perhaps in the pain, there is also grace,
A chance to heal, to find a new place.
So let us embrace the pain and let it pass,
For in its wake, a brighter future may amass.
Jan 28, 2023
Jan 28, 2023 at 5:55 AM UTC
With ****** knuckles, he returns each night,
A ritual of penance, a sombre rite.
The physical pain a salve for the emotional scar,
A fleeting escape, from the heartbreak so far.
His broken heart, a festering wound,
A constant reminder, of love disowned.
He seeks solace in the bottle's numb embrace,
A fleeting respite, from the memory's trace.
But in the morning, the pain returns anew,
A constant reminder, of what once grew.
And so, he repeats, the cycle once more,
A never-ending cycle, a painful chore.
For in the aftermath of love's demise,
We seek to vanquish the pain, in any guise.
But the wounds of the heart, they linger still,
A constant ache, an unending ill.
But perhaps in the pain, there is also grace,
A chance to heal, to find a new place.
So let us embrace the pain and let it pass,
For in its wake, a brighter future may amass.
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