quarta-feira, 11 de setembro de 2013


What remains is the broken glass.
No more pity for you my darling,
No more shame to bare.
The delicate line between us
Were chess pieces through the air.
Puzzles in your mind, particles in our veins.
What remains are wounds that never healed.
Stuck with the past to the throat,
I hope you have left for good,
I hope to never recieve a note
To remind me of how much useless you were.

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