Literature
Love is a Terrible Thing:
He is my other piece,
To the puzzle of me that will never cease,
He is the heart,
To my chests rhythmic beat,
The real pulsing love,
Where infatuation could only shove.
Yet
When I look to my past,
I yearn for that flame that blew out too fast,
For that man who caused chaos with one loving thrust,
And than left me for another girls lust,
He had my heart is a glass box and with a quick fist,
Showed me how easily he could forget how we kissed.
Why dose he linger in my mind,
When to him I am purely blind,
Why is he the one my heart will sometimes miss,
When I should tend to it's oceanic abyss,
Why can't I enjoy my new bl