I hope someone had sent me a manual guide on how to survive with a broken heart, I'm afraid such thing doesn't seem to exist, and I continue to drown in a never-ending sea of melancholy and pounding ache. The thought of you is strangling me alive, it is making it hard for me to function, to breathe. You have become an everlasting headache, refusing to abandon my fed up brain. It is possibly sad and pathetic that I am now writing a person who no longer exists, who no longer graces me with their presence, who no longer puts my demons to sleep. I am pitifully holding on to the remaining bits I carry of you, as I wish upon a fallen star to have you settle in my arms once more. There are a lot of ways things can go, but I cannot possibly see them happening. I cannot imagine the air going through my lungs unless I am inhaling the toxic smell of your cologne. I cannot imagine my shaky hands getting any warmer unless yours are there to hold them. Things are dark, and it does not seem like things would be any brighter with the lights turned on. I feel like a paused song, not quite stopping, but not carrying on entirely. Forgive me, for I have no clue where I am heading with this, but I was hoping talking to you would soothe the fire my heart insists on holding. Dear, I miss you.
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts.
PoetryThis is not an actual book. This is simply my 3am thoughts, all gathered up in one place. In no way will they relate or connect to each other. They are completely random.
