All This Grey

 A day, turns into, another day-

sooner or later; but Hey!

There must be a time for;

Wrong or Right.

My heart closes with a scar,

Whilst yours opens;

Behind me as I walk away,

Accompanied by Chopin.

Our wounds had symmetry;

but yours, were fresh and bleeding,

there was no hate in me;

I was just leaving.

Your life was in my hands

and I already grieving,

So, I; kept off my phone;

stayed by myself: alone;

no sense in still deceiving.


johnnyjohnnyjohnny johnnyjohnnyjohnny
26-30, M
1 Response Feb 9, 2009

What else can be said ? You're a poet. You'd write on a fogged up mirror if you didn't have a pen handy, eh?