It wasn't long ago
Yet memory has already archived
Filed under "P" for pain
"P" for pleasure
Or "P" for past, I'm not sure
I already miss those misty hours
Where I'd wake up with a smile
And wonder "How did I get here?
And How do I remain?"
When top concern was not for myself
When she was the air my soul would breathe
Sometimes in that void between wake and slumber
I can sill hear her gentle sigh and taste her over my lips
How piercing her words hit my heart
But I, like the fool I am, did not let her know
I, the imbecile, did what I vowed not
Granted... a silly word I wore as a badge in my youth.
Now I take her as such
Now I weep for her, and the sorrows I could not alleviate
She claimed I was not worthy of how she treated me
And how right she was
I am not worthy of love
For me love is a thorn with no rose
