Monday, 13 April 2009

Being Her Pitifully Ironic Self*

It is like smelling the scent of his skin,
But not being able to touch it.

Like stepping into a pool of water,
And getting out drained.

Like forcing the knife into the skin,
Watching the blood flooding out,
And not feeling.

Like being a fraction of a second away
From reaching an orgasm,
And having an abrupt emotional breakdown.

Like dreaming of utopia,
And waking up to ugly reality.

Like sparing your virginity,
Till the prince charming on the white horse shows up,
And dying a spinster.

Like accepting loss, never caring,
Yet never daring to try again.

1 comment:

marooned84 said...

Story of my life...

It's like being different, but dead from the inside.

Watching people as if from behind a window pane.