The staircase that leads to her heart has no hand rails. No grab bars. You must measure your steps carefully, finding the right balance between what you want from her and what she really needs from you.
Of this world so darkened by evils, evils that taint and tarnesh all the good in it's path.. Love bares a soul that only our creator can claim, hands that heal the wounded and a heart that breaks by day. Hidden souls that crawl from the cracks left behind to wait for the coiled serpant like powerless pray. They walk amongst us in a field left open , to be struck by the venome as they lay hopeless and face their death ,. The Wounded Healer kneels beside them with hands to lay, ******* the poison, giving them purity to rinse their veins. The Wounded Healer now weakened by the goodness of thyne heart but expects nothing in return Now her age upon her, taken over the beast of I'll, not one soul of the once wounded stands before her to show they love her, as she asks of nothing more before she goes. Is this what I see and feel before me to be A Wounded Healer yet die with painful sadness as I lay here all alone . Tis true to never expect the good you rein upon God's children to rein on you in return. Keeping your heart good and love without regret for This is the Only honest love that of a wounded Healer is certain they will get
There is a string of things hung with ideas as clothes pins They take off the ideas and the string can't hold the thing Memories are strands that if you pull it will never stop unwinding The common person sees something in the little he won in life The rest are rather useful than pleasant Nobody received flowers or fame If you could see now I'm dying to drown in flames The love I've been placed through has to be the stuff of myth It seems to hold back until the graze The way it holds by taking The way you hold by cradling There's so much in me that you already know I have a bit of wrinkles and the acne scars too The whole of society sees me as living the dream But the parts of me that people think are hidden are on the internet See what the world knows I should be aware of all the rules I've broken to be here Then no purposeful ignorance can be said of me There has to be someone who can point out the crumb on my lower lip Rather than speak without the relevance of politeness There's something about the way you hold me That says you're trying me on There is no transaction taking place Treasure is most found on the map of my slow heartbeat The calm before the storm siphons its way into my blood cells Making me believe in the little I know as well You have to be well read to read someone else's biography You have no language if you only understand yourself Take a bit off