THE DEATH OF A WRITER ALWAYS STARTS WITH LOVE.
HEARTFELT BLUE LOVE,,
NEVER LET ME GO TYPE OF LOVE .
THAT'S WHAT KILLS,,
KILL SO HARD.
EVERYTHING YOU SAID ,,
EVERYTHING YOU DID STILL HURTS .
I CAN'T PICK UP A PEN WITHOUT PAIN,,
SELF-ESTEEM CHANGED .
(FEELING LIFELESS)
MY OCEAN HAS MORPHED INTO TIDAL WAVES ,,
A HURRICANE OF SELF-HATE .
I THOUGHT I COULD GET OVER IT ,,
STILL NOT READY YET .
FOREVER HURT ,,
FOREVER 'TILL THIS DAY.
