There’s nothing more to me
Than this masochistic mystery
That begs to not end your story
Of just who are we?
This entry was posted on 27.12.2011 by Xyldrae. It was filed under Abstract, Heartache, Longings, Meaning, Suffering, The Perils of Living, Unrequited Love and was tagged with Confusion, emotional blackmail, masochism, mystery, poetry, unlabelled realationships, who are we.