Wanting to be heard, with nothing to say Old recitations to dialogue in a play We speak, in echoes, like poetry, it rhymes And the father of learning is repetition
What only concerns is the comfort in your reflection
Death is a comfort that doesn't exist When you're dead, nothing really is Nothing really is, and nothing will be
My Woman and Her Treasures, finally ended My Drouth. When Her pink Lips created, a Wild Storm in My Mouth. She drove My Desires, on a Hell of a Ride and washed My Ego by taking away some Pride. Each Kiss She rendered, aroused the Lion in Me. Coz Her Lips were Sweeter, than the Nectar from a Bee. On Weekends Our Mood is set, for Our Passions to Flow. With each stroke I Serve, Her Face begins to Glow.
my heart hurts lesser today and that is good; perhaps it is starting to feel okay, or in a better mood
my tears no longer wet my face, and that is good; perhaps I am in the right place, or my mind finally understood that recovery is not a race and I should not be rushing to get out of the wood
2 months post-breakup; I think I've finally reached a point where I can't cry when I think of my ex anymore. When someone says time heals, they are just spreading the truth.
