Written on Saturday, May 14, 2011
Were there in this time less distractions due in part..
I surely would have died of a broken heart,
and ends the monsoon in which the seas have halted its waves,
too soon are outnumbered to July are the days.
And you would see a misery in turn,
a lesson in time that is due to be learned,
but the matters of the heart is as stubborn as how you would want to stop the sun from rising,
and in part,
don’t breath on me his name,
it’s as cold as ice,
and this fistful of hair in which my hands are festered to cut,
comes memories that whispers preference due in part..
and as this hair grows,
so does a loss of hope.