He wants to cry,
But the tears, they come no more;
Every last drop, has dried up,
And taken with it,
all his hopes.
But cry he shall,
Tears, he’ll make himself.
Turning clear to red,
From living to dead,
Until he bleeds no more.
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Okay, this is officially weird. Seems the less I write, the more followers I get. Not bad, eh? This post shall be in single lines because I... -
Chaos. Too many stray thoughts in your head. Like fireworks on Guy Fawkes night. Like beads falling from a string and rushing to hide themse...
1 comment:
but there remain one part,
all the clamant needs,
which fullfil.
he loves his lachrymose heart.
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