BlackDragonSoul
07-08-2001, 03:19 AM
The crushing blow that wounds the soul.
Tears out that which keeps it whole.
A reasonable doubt makes itself known.
A new face of sadness has now been shown.
I’ve tried to be patient.
But now it’s wearing thin.
The heartache continues.
The pain never ends.
Why are you doing this to me a loving man?
Should I have stopped when I originally began?
I thought we were friends.
It doesn’t seem that way.
Why can’t you speak your heart?
What is so hard to say?
I really don’t need this, nor do I want any of it.
Now just thinking of you, burns me quite a bit.
I refuse to weep,
For you feel not for me.
Nor will I end my life,
The loss is yours, you see.
Then something new occurs.
A faint glimmer of hope.
Things look promising.
May not need to cope.
The passion in your kiss,
Rises a notch or two.
Hasty thoughts surface.
Perhaps I spoke too soon.
An embracing stare,
Reels me in slow.
Lips meet once again,
The fondness then grows.
A never-ending cycle,
Of mixed matched signals.
A moment of pure joy,
Followed by one quite dismal.
A schizophrenic figment,
Or maybe it’s me.
Still life goes on.
The loss is yours, you see.
Tears out that which keeps it whole.
A reasonable doubt makes itself known.
A new face of sadness has now been shown.
I’ve tried to be patient.
But now it’s wearing thin.
The heartache continues.
The pain never ends.
Why are you doing this to me a loving man?
Should I have stopped when I originally began?
I thought we were friends.
It doesn’t seem that way.
Why can’t you speak your heart?
What is so hard to say?
I really don’t need this, nor do I want any of it.
Now just thinking of you, burns me quite a bit.
I refuse to weep,
For you feel not for me.
Nor will I end my life,
The loss is yours, you see.
Then something new occurs.
A faint glimmer of hope.
Things look promising.
May not need to cope.
The passion in your kiss,
Rises a notch or two.
Hasty thoughts surface.
Perhaps I spoke too soon.
An embracing stare,
Reels me in slow.
Lips meet once again,
The fondness then grows.
A never-ending cycle,
Of mixed matched signals.
A moment of pure joy,
Followed by one quite dismal.
A schizophrenic figment,
Or maybe it’s me.
Still life goes on.
The loss is yours, you see.