Sick is only a word,
I've used to only collect,
depressed dust,
my small remnants,
of shattered unholiness,
and broken bones,
I slip through each crack,
falling, falling past.
Sliding ever easier through this void-less life.
I cannot feel what feelings are,
I cannot touch lust lips with my own,
I cannot smell divine forbidden fruit,
for my senses have been, and shall remain as numb,
as they were when you left.
Ripped, and battered,
this heart beats ever lightly,
with the thoughts of love,
never thinking nor questioning pain,
for love knows of pains,
as pain is that of love.
The lines vanish,
my pain becomes love,
but who am I, If I am not pained?
I can't love.......I shall from here out remain solemnly broken,
and left with the dust of my rebirthed heart.
This is pure brilliance it is just amazing breath taking i loved it great job
This is truly beautiful...so meaningful and melancholy...loved it -SG xo
pain is to love as love is to pain... captured this truth beautifully.... sad though to see u write it wonderful poem in itself :) ~Bella
Such a sad poem, love is not always pain my friend. Love the poem, urbur emotional.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great poem Crim, though sad....tell me where have you been? ..good to have you back my friend...