this poem, like many of mine, is written in my darkess hours, hours of depression.


are we better without?

Every time I am left feeling,
Broken, cold, empty inside.
Love is a killing,
Of what we are.

Burning bright with hope,
But when it leaves us,
We are struggling to cope,
Love is a blessing and a curse.

Like the moon after the sun,
Love comes to us,
Making or hearts run,
But are we better without?




Poetry by amy-leigh
Read 265 times
Written on 2006-07-28 at 02:25

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