yellow words on a black page sinks my heart into an abyss of misunderstanding. weather they're a comeback to awkward, or honesty at it's best, i fight to not care. meanwhile black words on a white page pierce the weakness already inside. such blindness to the benefits of life, struggles encompass what used to be so easy. and now all that's left are these flowers of worry wilting in my palms.
there was an instant conversation which enlightened the status of a previous comrade and his new lady. and while satisfaction trys to move into pressure's place, it's hard to move those boxes around the sunken, stabbed heart: nott mine, not wanted: i fear of losing what there was.

"simple love with a complex touch." m5