We said
one sentence too many, made
one promise too many – you see, now, as they burn in
dimming fires. There’s nothing more
comforting (if any) than having
one dream too many, now; I write
one verse too many, though words slither and letters bite
like snakes and us alike. Days go and
nights stay, and flowers wither without a sun – cry
one tear too many (for one too many times), and feel
one pang too many – the painful wounds of emotions resurface
as relentless they impale, rinse and
repeat. Though all’s to be lost – I think
one thought too many – over phantom spilt milk, and we wove
one lie too many – I ponder them still, truths we
hid and lies we
embroidered –
one too many.
gizgiz
lightninghell
