(no subject)
Poetry is a fickle art.
It's that feeling you get,
and when you love it can't be this real.
You aren't afraid to feel.
You've had your heart broken before.
You've been down this road before.
You've bleed these tears before.
You know what it's like to suffer this,
and you hide it well.
You can cry alone, just sit and spill.
Each tear is silently running,
it knows its burning path down.
If they only knew.
If they could feel the heartbreak you know so well,
and if they could own this broken heart too.
Sad is always cold, it doesn't go by without a shiver.
Love it's apathetic-
its trust can't be responsible for you.
Perfectly flawed and perfectly capable for this...
Each tiny piece still screams your name,
each tiny piece holds its head down in shame.
The laugh from my mouth doesn't echo.
The tears from my eyes don't tickle.
hmmm.... I tried.
It's that feeling you get,
and when you love it can't be this real.
You aren't afraid to feel.
You've had your heart broken before.
You've been down this road before.
You've bleed these tears before.
You know what it's like to suffer this,
and you hide it well.
You can cry alone, just sit and spill.
Each tear is silently running,
it knows its burning path down.
If they only knew.
If they could feel the heartbreak you know so well,
and if they could own this broken heart too.
Sad is always cold, it doesn't go by without a shiver.
Love it's apathetic-
its trust can't be responsible for you.
Perfectly flawed and perfectly capable for this...
Each tiny piece still screams your name,
each tiny piece holds its head down in shame.
The laugh from my mouth doesn't echo.
The tears from my eyes don't tickle.
hmmm.... I tried.