The tears, my soft blues eyes blink as they roll down my cheek.
They burn my face, the memories, the thoughts of you burn as they roll down my cheek.
Your not the only reason they burn.
The tears make me quench with thirst as my coarse throat feels dry like sandpaper
The tears have stopped. I wipe my red patchy face and say it's good to cry, but is it good to cry over you over the thought of you over everything. Is it? Is it good to cry
The thought of that makes the last drop roll of my face then makes me think it's pathetic, everything makes you cry
The tears hurt.
