Extend the tragedy and base it in harmony;
Lay engulfed by the freedom of a tender embrace
In darkness we shall remain without seperation,
Doubts die off to the touch of smooth precision.
Let this be my confession of late winter,
A mere desire -
My last secret...
I'm sorry that I put that in your comment, but your poem was one line and all it said was that you hold all your pain inside and then cut. It's stupid (IMO)
