12 mar 2016

Waste of time.

Superficial breaths - pallor on the cheecks
a corollary for unexpected agony.
Don't ask me how I feel,
I do not want to feel;
I locked the door and left the world outside.

No more pain to face - no happiness, no grace,
everything has turned in blessed apathy
where no fancy can delude
tossed between emotion and abuse;
I try to reach control but I have no flesh to hide

the more I observe
the less I deserve,
the more I emaciate
the less I appreciate

our waste of time; I gave myself away.
Love has its price - too high for me to pay.

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