It was mid December. The warm summers always cease to escape me. Leaving with nothing but
a long cold and bleak winter.
The fire was the only thing in this dark chamber of a home that kept me company. And as it
burned with life and bestowed it's
warm light unto me I couldn't help but think of the reason for my pain. For you see there
are many pains out there.
All we must face and fight and cry and hurt and do the best we can to make somewhat of a
recovery, but my pain seemed to never end.
So long it stayed, dormant, like a thorn in my heart, like a wound that would never heal,
like an endless winter.
Love had found me and i let it slip away. With it i had felt pain i had never known exist.
I felt sick, no medicine could rid me of this
illness that is a broken heart. Rather a stolen heart. I let her have it and she took it
with her, to the grave. Now there is but an empty
shell that was once a man. So what now? Find love again? The only thing i will find is the
terrible memory of my loss. So to my sweet,
i say i have only but one wish...to be with you. To hold you again, but this will not be.
It cannot be.
Suicide is painless really.
it gives you numbness. unable to suffer or love.