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”.
~me
