Love, Hurt, Misery, Pain

Even though her heart and
Her brain share the same desire
She sits there lonesome quiet
Writing with no passion or fire

Her heart and her skin
Longs for him the touch
Of a man the love feels
Forced lost and cold, burning
As if they were both born with
no hands

She feels as though they were
Lost or cut off then brought back
Together by chance her heart is warm
Yet filled with ice she sits on her
Throne refusing to fight she writes the
Letter with no pain hoping

She would go off and fin love again
He lies in his bed broken beyond measure yet
Though he writes to fulfill his unforwilling
Pleasure he stops at nothing to make
Her feel loved although she doesn't want it
He sends his love with a hundred doves
All each holding a letter professing his love
To her

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