beauty in the eyes of the beholder,
no more than a shoulder shrugged because your older,
A heart once intact, shattered and distracted by the shackles that make us attached.
Strands blow in the wind as you stand breathless and twinge.
The face of a dying heart, a face that love never wins.
Tears run down your face as your loneness displaces.
A love none the less, even in bequest,
Your emotions flutter, that his mind was in the gutter,
your loving heart, rotting as you go on your fast,
embracing the locals, as you fall apart.
