dis is not goOd..
y is dis feelin starts to rise up again..
it shud have been long lost, gone..
yes.. dis what is called as amore or grá..
i shud be hating it..
but my guess is, its either ít' or thee..
to choose its really hard...toO hard infact..
the memoirs keep on floating back in..
well then.. to thee i give dis..
to this sober nite..
i lay low, with thy spark in sight..
the tree that hang till burst..
never has it yield, the lonesome path..
where it all started..
the ones that were once bound of love..
now greet trash filled with dust from above..
should the bare of grass, now be seeded till green..?
for the pinch of light, will never be greet..
as the reminisce has fallen till pitch..