How can I think of you when its of you I most detest, my breaker my deciever, my morning and my evening and my fire, my fist and my smile – how can I think?
How can I?
But how much I try, in however I may, as I might, it will be a continual fight, to convince you to me of things I know you;ll not understand – so I will not even begin.
I’ll let the hurt ceom in, and I’ll deal with devil and its with him, I’ll reviel, how you came pass my door, fo he’s tried before – And what life do I have ? I life of continual strife?
No matter how I try, the that, that was, will never be the same, and as hard as I try to reprduce it, each effort changes it.
Why try,