Kill me and burn the body, for i WILL love again, and you OH you. Wounderful you that you are. The heart crashing, backstabbing you. The you that made the deilving promice and then broke it in half. You said that you'd be there for me, but where are you now. If you can't keep a little promice, Then you'll end up alone, cold in a bed that is made from ice seaping from you shirving heart. But I, on the other had, will end up happy with the man I love.
With bleeding love and a taped up heart,
-Kayla M Yeager
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem