The battle of one's heart over another's is that of sweet agony.
A blissful taste left in your mouth after nothing but pure intoxication and eradication.
Nothing is true, and yet nothing is false.
You are left with that of a broken song yearning to be sung.
But, sing shall it not, for the voice of reason is now gone into nothingness.
You are the giver, never the receiver.
Your heart is the broken one, the one never to be seen.
You are the one alone, left to the abyss to sink into your own tears.
Oh, poor bird, take your flight, fly into the sorrows of this sad night.
May your black tears be forever felt for forgiving is not forgetting.
It's inevitable to feel the pain, so embrace your song, little bird.
Only you will ever be able to hear it. 924Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡQLVtl3OrMF
