25 August 2012
Separated from you.
Now I'm tore.
I'm in two.
Why use that figurative speech?
My heart has not split or tore.
I will not really fall down and die if you walk out that door.
If only I could spilt and tare.
One becoming two.
Then I may have another someone to replace you.
Another me perfected imperfection.
A small invaluable piece.
No more rows or fights.
No more you're wrong or I'm right.
Separated.
Separation.
Deprivation.
I know it for a fact I will not die without you as pained as it may be.
And I also realise I'd be exactly the same with another me.
Separated.
Accept what's fated.
Long been out dated.
Separated • Opuss № I