"Everything hurts.
Being alive,
Being born,
Only death,
A silent storm,
too late,
the thunderous roar,
Love hurts,
Hate, too,
More when felt to one's self
A room with no windows,
My heart,
my love,
He's forevermore trapped there.
In the confines of my soul."
YOU ARE READING
Poetry for the heartless and heartbroken
PoetryMy poetry dwells in the infinite sadness of the broken and the heartless.
