Emotion-sick in the head
(so much of that pretty girl),
it’s in the way you handle me
that makes it fucking unbearable,
but still: try, make friends.
You are the marrow of the story.
Once loved every early morning.
Do you now regret having told me?
The once lush forest of our hallowed love
has become barren, and I’m sorry too.
Sorry nothing stopped him.