You go. You go...You get out of hand even though I adore you.I do not know if I feel sorry for you, for me, or both and they get frustrated in my past springs fingers. When my sick soul needed you most and the tendon of my life rots and dies, you are the one who sends in my last breath the macabre taste of my silence... I do not know how much value my feeling had.Nor will I know if it was worth it to have loved you.I only know that I feel in the same...
Related Subjects
Poetry