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RandomHe told her that he loved her
he said that he cared
although he barely showed it
deep down she always knew
their hearts became entangled
each day their love grew
the love they shared, hand in hand
no words could explain it
a love only a few can understand
my heart will forever be yours Chris
i love you, nothing can change that ♥
By the time someone reads this: it won't matterlies fill my ears
my heart turns cold
my body grows numb
insombia takes over
the voices get louder
the choices are clearer
this time i will not make it
this time it is near
no more backing down
for years the emptiness swept over
by now you can feel this isn't no poem
its no joke, its my time to croak
no matter what way it ends
my screams will remain unheard
my smiles forever remembered
my pain long forgotten
suffering put to ashes
anger will grow
fast , not slow
no air shall fill my lungs
my eyes will just stare
he will not be there
noone will care
sorry for what i did in the past
all my mistakes i made
but i promise this will be the last.<em>
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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