Poem: With a Thousand Wounds

Unluckybolte

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With a Thousand wounds

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Solely pretended happiness on my lips;
Dark in light colours,
Sweet in bitterness,
And the beauty in ugliness!

Hid my wounds in a thousand faces;
Secretly crying eyes,
Restrained existing the tear
And embraced hurting of falseness!

Though thy feet turned too much far;
Slow and constantly,
Covering space of an inch,
My feet travel, as long as thy destination:

And then in a crowded world;
My heart dies of
your remembrance!
 
bottling will prolong the inevitable... shake the bottle :)

happiness is a great choice, i agree with that 100%
 
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