or sign in with e-mail
by Natalie McPhee May 25, 2005 category : Sadness, depression / about death
These broken shards of glass, Caress my face, Just like your hand They now replace, The stinging scars, my arms do weep, In my slumber, I soundly sleep, I do not wake to your morning lips, Nor to your stroking finger tips, I lie and ponder the darkness beyond, For now, I miss our sweet loving bond.