Stale Hearts,
With love he swallows large gulps of frustration and hesitation to express this pain, he runs quietly towards insanity because he longer trust the reason behind the intensity of the way life blame.
Pride matters not in situations like this… anger and love are one in the same, and although he’s reluctant to show the strength behind the things we know, he foolishly play by the rules of this game.
What squirms around the hurting heart is the reality he’s better off apart, and when he cries out emotions as a board screams out for its dart… we argue as if fighting was an endangered art.
With the comforter he’s knitted to warm congested stubbornness… I see many chilled nights,
Weaving patches of blame to shame, mixing colors and threading his name.
Stale in passion (lost in art), Feeling failed in compassion (Stale in hearts).
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