You say you love me
And I know you do.
But then you'll do something
That makes me question if it's true.
They say I must hold respect
For those that cared.
But there's so much they expect.
Why can't my heart be spared?
You say you're sorry now
And say 'if you could go back,
This time you would not allow
The repeated attack'.
You say this and tell me
To move on and proceed.
But still you refuse to see
These wounds that still bleed.
YOU ARE READING
Lachrymose
PoetryLachrymose /ˈlakrɪməʊs,ˈlakrɪməʊz/ adjective tearful or given to weeping. A collection of amateur prose and poetry illustrating the inner turmoil. Mainly a dumping ground for loose thoughts and ideas to be interpreted in whatever manner.
