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serial killer
1 min read
Glances, stares, looks of- regret?
No words, no whispers, no murmurs of thoughts
Bleeding, bleeding, my lacerated heart
Your eyes so intense,
Speaking of the passion you won't speak of
Silence, the wonderful murderer
The serial killer of love
Happy New Year
No words, no whispers, no murmurs of thoughts
Bleeding, bleeding, my lacerated heart
Your eyes so intense,
Speaking of the passion you won't speak of
Silence, the wonderful murderer
The serial killer of love
Happy New Year
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Love
1 min read
Love so strange bewitches us all; heals and hurts, soothes and screams, but touches every heart, no matter how hard or broken, guarded or torn, love is the life and death of every creature; great or small.
just my thoughts in prose form- i saw an old friend, and then saw him more often, fell in love, and then he proposed to his girl friend (fyi, not me).
He has no idea of my feelings, but i feel like i'm stuck in a chick flick. yeah, nasty feeling when chick-flick and real life clash. ha.
love feels like death to me now, but perhaps it will resurrect me yet.
just my thoughts in prose form- i saw an old friend, and then saw him more often, fell in love, and then he proposed to his girl friend (fyi, not me).
He has no idea of my feelings, but i feel like i'm stuck in a chick flick. yeah, nasty feeling when chick-flick and real life clash. ha.
love feels like death to me now, but perhaps it will resurrect me yet.
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birthdays
1 min read
Today's my birthday; that's what i'm told
But who really cares if i'm another year old?
It's just a way of saying i have one less year to live
that i have less time; less love to give.
But then, perhaps, i'm seeing the cup half full
maybe time is just a load of bull
who really knows what death will bring?
in heaven or hell i would be an eternal being.
So what is time but a taste of death?
perhaps it's just a piece, just a single breath
of what we shall know in the "sweet by and by"
the world beyond this, the day that we die.
But who really cares if i'm another year old?
It's just a way of saying i have one less year to live
that i have less time; less love to give.
But then, perhaps, i'm seeing the cup half full
maybe time is just a load of bull
who really knows what death will bring?
in heaven or hell i would be an eternal being.
So what is time but a taste of death?
perhaps it's just a piece, just a single breath
of what we shall know in the "sweet by and by"
the world beyond this, the day that we die.
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