I was filled
with such a slow, weighty sort of voidness
that robbed me of all my insides
when she broke the news to me
it must have been hell
trying to put a stonewall combating
through the days,
counting mornings that has been
molded into numbers
every living thing in this world dies
but never place such doubts over love
to be a rather slow suicide
instead
learn to waltz through the wars,
old and to come
-a.
YOU ARE READING
littlemisscloud writes
PoetryMy collection of original poetry writings where I'd write way past my bedtime.