I do not know how
To write them
Digging deep endlessly.
The pain
Is ever present
All that I know.
Like breathing in
I'm use to it
My tearful muse.
I'd love to write
About Love,
But those feelings are bottle up.
Kept in storage
I don't want to share
Not even with myself...
I'd love to hold
Those precious gems
In my hands.
Loving memories to reflect on
And prove to myself
That for me...It can exist.
Dirty hands
Searching within
Trying. Determined. Nostalgic.
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