there's no good, keeping up with my fire.
you being the matches
will only make me demolish
the lovely home we built.
it is a burden, being the twin flame
to a woman who knows no regret.
it is a hassle.
you will be the ashes.
and i, my dear
will be gone.
YOU ARE READING
The Wanderer
PoetrySomewhere in between times, there are souls wander around to find something to believe in. Something to hope for.
