Every-time,
I
catch
myself
staring
into the
past.
I become
breathless,
sometimes
faithless..
Even
though
I don't
intend
to hide
or run
away, it
hunts me
down inside
my mind,
stabbing
my heart
with the
devilish
smile.
All I end
up is
Questioning,
Are we
so fragile?
Thousand
miles somewhere
In my soul,
I search for an
answer.
Concluding myself
for now,
that..
A wound to heal,
Is not a choice,
But a delish meal,
for hell's rejoice..
And
I don't
know
why
I'm still
hoping
for these
wounds
to heal,
and I do
not hope
for those
scars to
fade cause
that will
eventually
kill the
"meaning of love"
too...
