You have killed me,
For i was the one who handed you the knife.
Where else do i find my death?
If not in you?
If it did not come from you,
then where did it come from?
I have a strange, masochistic sense of familiarity with my death.
And the irony of it is that it came from a place of love.
Perhaps death is love in its betrayed form,
And it comes with an unshared form of love that is grief.
In the end, my heart will bleed,
But for how long?
How long will it take for me to heal,
only to turn into nothing?
~J.S
YOU ARE READING
A Diary of my thoughts
PoetryLate night thoughts whispered onto these pages like i wished i whispered them in your ears **About the Book** "A Diary of My Thoughts" is a journey through the soul, capturing love, loss, and longing in heartfelt poems. Written in their raw, unrefin...
