Tuesday, January 29, 2013

The feet finds ground but the wings refuse to fly.

The sorrow grips you but the eyes can easily dry.

All is well when the end is swell, and the road to harmony is murder,

It is but fatal when the body indulges but the soul yearns to cry.

“I need you like body to blood and mind to oxygen”

“You are not love”

“Not at least mine”. 


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