Love hurts.
It is difficult.
For one to bear; to hold and to explain.
There's nothing within me that knows better than the feeling of loving someone who will never reciprocate.
Because that's all I know.
Liking someone never pays off well.
It is a cruel contract of satisfaction, in exchange for a lesson.
It strikes one, as swift as lightning.
Yet seems gentle in approach.
But contained in its vicious electrical grip;
Is an unforgiving needle that pierces deep.
Apologies are made.
Regrets are born.
Tears fall.
And in the night it cruelly keeps you wake.
Piecing away at your sanity.
Love was never meant to hurt.
But a sword can always harm others even without being used.
YOU ARE READING
Morose Sunsets
PoésieA collection of very short poems that I hold dear to me. Not even sure if some of these are poems. Each of them are actually in relation to future characters in some of my current and future stories.
