Like Neruda, tonight, I write lines to end all the midsummer fantasies, snow filled hazy days, and every inconceivable longing for a love that can not be, with a final line on the notebook kept in the escritoire that is my heart, I hold the blade to my wrist and slash deep.Photo Credit:
http://farm1.static.flickr.com/111/301534592_024efaa409.jpg?v=0
2 comments:
I like this one. I don't find it morbid at all.It's actually symbolic for me because at one point in our lives we may have experienced a time when it seems it's better to end it all. When we cannot feel anything at all,just numb from too much pain.A feeling of hopelessness. Some of us succumb yet fortunately, some find the courage to go on.
thank you biatch... profound thoughts you have there...join the contest... and ur link pls so i can visit you too...
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