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Your face tells I'm a monster every time your eyes meet mine,
The tears I try to swallow, yet well I know I can't,
Let the walls break in, let them crack, it was a matter of the time.
The voice of yours, yelling at me, making yourself saint,
Torn my ripped heart apart once more, being wide open,
Letting all of my previous feelings flow out, just as the wild river
Floods down the fields, dangerous yet beautiful, strong yet broken.
I think whilst you speak, I write whilst you scream, I love whilst you're the lover;
And so does it do any difference if the soul remains quiet
Because the only thing, pure and strong enough, that it needed was to be loved?

Amateur's thoughts (written as poems, sonnets and short texts)Where stories live. Discover now