somethings can't help but be looked backed at,
reminisced upon, though forgotten, a different kind of broken
like when i threw my jewel into the sea,
knowing it never loved me
and everyday the tide brought him back,
like some god-sent, torrent of a smack.
leaving me a bruise beyond pain,
amour's unforgiving, incessant strain.
sometimes i feel as if the words are going to shy out of my throat,
but i only find myself swallowing hope
enough said ?
