Tomorrow, tears would cease;
wounds stitched, shattered pieces fixed.
She'd wait until then,
to stop this stabbing pain tormenting her being.
But today... Today, she'd allow herself
to wallow in her pain, in her madness;
in her stupid, self-inflicted heartaches.
He was never hers; they never were.
She alone held dear and lived with despair.
To stop she could, she should, but did not.
Today, she loved in vain.
But, tomorrow...
Tomorrow, she'd start anew.
Ready to stretch her frayed wings
and face the truth.
Tomorrow...
She'd wait until then.
Alas, it was all in vain.
For tomorrow never came.
******
A/N:
I just love that song in the media.
This is for all the beautiful souls 'dancing on their own', as their hearts break watching their desired partners dancing in the arms of another.
Wounds take long to heal. Wounded hearts even longer. Time would help you stitch those cuts. But you have to try, too.
May you soon find courage to seek your tomorrow.
- Mia
YOU ARE READING
Spilled Ink
PoetryA piece of soul in ink, and unto the paper it spilled. A collection of thoughts that rhyme from a wandering mind.
