I have an unsuccessful method
of trying to make you love me more.
I have, in turn, made your love die.
Each day a smaller breath diminishes out activity.
You have asked me to stop the madness yet I continue.
The urge to stir the life we have is unnecessary, yet I desire the actions.
Copyright 01-14-2009 ©® Sarah Sisson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem