17 April 2012
The word were spat like daggers, Aimed at his heavy heart. They wrapped there endless anger round him, Pulling him into there game.
Soon words were fired from him, Tearing holes in their fragile love.
He saw the words laid out, Neat and underlined the next morning, He torn, scribbled, erased. But the tangle never shrunk.
Losted? Won? He did not care.
Opuss № I