Why must the things we love hurt us the most
We're already stuck living in imperfection
But that I understand
Each limb bound by rope being tugged in every direction
It is said that too much of anything can be bad but is it to be said the same for love
But with a bottle of prescription pills
I try to believe this is the truth
Trying to find solid truths in something with no physical boundaries
It's as if I've found my own abstract puzzle with no definitive lines of explanation
Not enough experience
No shield of protection
Not from Everlasting love then devastating loss
The constant ache of a tortured soul
And this advertised tragedy is our constant reminder as history hysterically repeats
~T.N.
YOU ARE READING
The Pain In His Words
PoetryI live with Suicidal ideation,in other words "Suicidal thoughts ". I write as my way of fighting back.When the world is trying to kill me, and my mind is doing the same.
