Unless my words refuse to stay inside the closed doors of recklessness and find a way back to hope , I wouldn't know how to write
On most days I lay naked to my thoughts with memories placid over my eyelids . Breathing in and out I see you choking down my own memories. A part of my self love stands still to you and pushes you down away. With great courage my broken heart grins to the remains . While the other half sits staring at the ceiling with delusion of everything would turn fine.
The strings of memories attached to my broken heart sings a tune of melancholy everytime my poem rhymes of love.
They wish to touch a part of your heart that knew how to love. By the corner of your lips or in those criss cross pattern of your hand they wish to stay there a liitle longer. One last time they wish to touch you in a way no one can.