(no subject)
Dear diary,
It's been an interesting few days. One more like it would have definately killed me...
Scrawled on a piece of paper in a stupor at 4 in the morning the other night:
What's the point in mourning
What never even was
The coffin lies empty
But still tears are shed
As the flowers lie wilting
On a desolate grave
I still hear your voice
Ringing in my head
To know that what never was
Never can be
I just can't feel happy for you
Yet you expect this super-human strength
I'm not strong enough to keep picking up the pieces
So I'll cry over spilt milk if I want to
What business is it of yours
If I never open myself up again
I'll lock my my heart in a drawer
Kept far away from harm and hardship
Safe but never satisfied
But at least I'll shed no more tears
For what never was
And never shall be.
It's been an interesting few days. One more like it would have definately killed me...
Scrawled on a piece of paper in a stupor at 4 in the morning the other night:
What's the point in mourning
What never even was
The coffin lies empty
But still tears are shed
As the flowers lie wilting
On a desolate grave
I still hear your voice
Ringing in my head
To know that what never was
Never can be
I just can't feel happy for you
Yet you expect this super-human strength
I'm not strong enough to keep picking up the pieces
So I'll cry over spilt milk if I want to
What business is it of yours
If I never open myself up again
I'll lock my my heart in a drawer
Kept far away from harm and hardship
Safe but never satisfied
But at least I'll shed no more tears
For what never was
And never shall be.