I hurt you and you hurt me back,
We're a mess of empty love,
Crying and hurting,
Crashing and burning,
We lost what we never had,
Regret is the poison,
It's the taste on your lips,
Oh, how I've dreamt of kissing them.
Words are an echo,
Too many and not enough said,
Mine were so full,
Yours were dead.
My heart was still beating,
But I couldn't listen anymore,
My heart stepped out,
My brain locked the door.
So now here we are,
In this bitter disposition,
Two matches soaked by tears,
Two matches that cannot burn,
I guess all that we could ever be,
Was
just another Shakespearean tragedy.
YOU ARE READING
Wither
PoetryFrustration, Anger, Pain, And sadness, We're all dying from the m a d n e s s . -Our Generation, Wither --- This is my voice to the world.
