Sometimes the incapability of love resides on my shoulders.
I wish I'd leave it out somewhere ,
Then I'd realise it's too late ,
As if my skin consumed it.
The love in my heart ,
Was Drained out.
As if someone was
sucking the blood ,
out of my veins.
My chaotic mind
Isn't wondering anymore ,
How it is to be loved by someone.
The flowers were gloomy ,
Perhaps their hearts were drained too.
No , winds aren't whispering
Those flirty little lines to me anymore.
As if they knew I'm unlovable.
Will I be ever able to pump the love back to my heart?
YOU ARE READING
Gravestones of survival.
Poetry~People often misunderstand my gravestones of survivals into piece of art.~ Random pieces of poetry.
