winter come,
a butterfly, intrinsically radiant and blime
fluttered its wings for one last time,
a love died.
so it meant nothing.
behind every gesture,
a malicious truth,
out to cut me.
love blinded me.
of every sick ways.
tell anybody,
who's at fault?
90 days of love trial rides,
returned doubled fold of hidden knives.
the gravity behind the doings,
none big enough to shoulder.
the aftermath,
as good as grave.
life-less and cold,
full of regrets.
how should i react?
do i do grace?
who did me then?
god sees all.
god judges.
the only rightful one to.
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