My head has begged to leave at best,
but still I weep at what is dead.
My heart still holds on what could be,
for it is blind to what I see.
In words I put the ache I feel,
for it wil ease the pain somehow;
With my mind clear of what we have,
should I now take one final bow?
The heart can only suffer much,
before it drags you down below.
It'll leave you void from what once full,
and leave your soul consumed in whole.
YOU ARE READING
This is why I write.
Poetryfor the people I've loved, lost and discovered along the way
