You.
Every pounding, pulsating, unreciprocated moment,
every cold, dying second where I am not with you,
it tears me to bits.
You.
You are like the end of a good book, the Tin Man's heart!
You have inspired the strangest things in me!
and yet you insist that we go on, this tango in the moonlight,
Until even the most precise of clockwork is trivialed with inconsistencies.
You.
Against much better judgement, I play this game,
until all the cards are dealt, I dig my hole
you say there is no love felt, I disagree,
I am tired of repeating, I love you, can't you see?!
You; I chase you, against all better judgement,
to the end of a man's faith, till only I; solely,
To hope to hold you in my arms,
my angel; my only.
Losing the battle for power
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment