Needle-sharp icy
shards pinprick memories of
unkept promises.
.
In the night, even in dreams,
she no longer speaks his name.
Needle-sharp icy
shards pinprick memories of
unkept promises.
.
In the night, even in dreams,
she no longer speaks his name.
A darkly intense write. 🙂
Sometimes endings nettle a bit.
A feeling, an evolvement of emotion exquisitely expressed. ‘Me too’, and gladly, after too much of me wasted.
“too much of me wasted”
*nod nod nod*
Love and learn.
Sounds very, very familiar … as my former “best friend” became another He Who Must Not Be Named.
Sigh.
Upfgh. I’m sorry.
It’s so hard to keep starting again.