"There are confessable agonies, sufferings of which one can positively be proud. Of bereavement, of parting, of the sense of sin and the fear of death the poets have eloquently spoken. They command the world's sympathy. But there are also discreditable anguishes, no less excruciating than the others, but of which the sufferer dare not, cannot speak. The anguish of thwarted desire, for example."
Sunday, August 14, 2011
no more
She would lay there
Broken
Sad
Dead inside
Slit Wrists
Arms spread across the floor
Love walks in
Seeing this pain
Love forgets her and runs to
another
She hurts love no more
And love no longer walks with
her
She lives no longer
Her body a shell
For a dead soul
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