My heart aches,
Always has been.
It yearns for something it cannot have.
It cries out for it,
Like a spoiled child who didn't get what they wanted for Christmas.
I ignore the pangs of pain it causes me,
Because it is a nuisance,
And if I did give in and gave what the heart wants,
It will cause me even more pain than before.
All because the sorry bastard was bored of what it got,
And wants something new to be entertained with.
Alas, my heart is such a spoiled child.
YOU ARE READING
Epigrams
PoetryIt appears you've found my book and before you decide to read it's contents, know that... These poems are everything that is me. (Also the cover was made by my buddy FierroThorne!)
