How come we love what harms us,
To the point dead smells like flowers;
We often let the light get in
Through the broken souls we call ours.
And we wait, wait, wait, endless wait
For the time we won't have to be
Silenced by the world's weight.
And this love will only see
My ink-stained fingers.
- Nicăieri
- JoinedJuly 9, 2014
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