"Ticking clocks, changing seasons, passing years.
Scars fade, given by cruel dears.
Somehow the pain residing in our hearts hurt a little less.
Visions become clear,
Once they were a blurry mess.
We cry not so very often, heart skip beats very seldom.
We begin to fly and enjoy our freedom.
Sadness, longing and craving still remain.
We still fall in the stormy rain.
Memory still have that love stain.
Maybe we just become immune to the pain."
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Chaotic Mess.
Poetry"I can't understand the chaos within me," She whispers finally letting the tears roll down, crumbled in her room, curled up in a ball, gasping for breath as she tries to hold herself, as she begs her heart to stop hurting so much. A collection of pr...
