An Effect Of Withdraw
My heart's an intricately cracked slab of concrete delegated to the patio of your great grandmothers hundred and fifty year old house left to fall apart the day she died in the silence of her once elegant, country, Georgia home.
Every chip in the concrete is symbolic of a lover that has taken a chunk of me with them. Some larger than others, respectively to the time and love I invested, hopeful it would be enough.
But, it's never been enough.
My eyes once a prized possession, shiny, bright, and full of youthful desire, are now worn scratched and dulled like an old knife, now neglected and pushed far to the back of that junk drawer you never open, but to search for something that was most likely found in a much more obvious place.
Dark, gloomy, and lonely, my eyes rest far beyond your need for them.
My breast's are beaten, used, lathered in age, longing for innocent vigor and care, like the set of double doors falling from the depreciated shed in your backyard.
Abandoned.
They're a gateway, craving to communicate a majestic chest of treasure; hiding the deep dark secrets of my heart.
Cryptic of vulnerability, they've become a misunderstood entrance by the only one's willing to risk opening them; the adventurous youth searching for a place to come and go as they please. Those that forget easily, ignore quickly, and are ignorant to their advancements on a lonely heart.
This is the picture of an expired prescription of love.
This is the effect of an interminable withdrawal.
Every chip in the concrete is symbolic of a lover that has taken a chunk of me with them. Some larger than others, respectively to the time and love I invested, hopeful it would be enough.
But, it's never been enough.
My eyes once a prized possession, shiny, bright, and full of youthful desire, are now worn scratched and dulled like an old knife, now neglected and pushed far to the back of that junk drawer you never open, but to search for something that was most likely found in a much more obvious place.
Dark, gloomy, and lonely, my eyes rest far beyond your need for them.
My breast's are beaten, used, lathered in age, longing for innocent vigor and care, like the set of double doors falling from the depreciated shed in your backyard.
Abandoned.
They're a gateway, craving to communicate a majestic chest of treasure; hiding the deep dark secrets of my heart.
Cryptic of vulnerability, they've become a misunderstood entrance by the only one's willing to risk opening them; the adventurous youth searching for a place to come and go as they please. Those that forget easily, ignore quickly, and are ignorant to their advancements on a lonely heart.
This is the picture of an expired prescription of love.
This is the effect of an interminable withdrawal.
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