War Of Scars
In the battlefield of spirits and love
Waged a war, the heart and mind,
Graves of dead, the senses haunt,
Ghost of his touch, be so unkind,
My skin aches for every taunt.
This pain, so sharp, yet I crave,
I burn them scars, till the edges blur,
From our masochism, I need save,
Drunk from sadness, my words slur.
Ocean were it, in the waves of ache
Would I drown and drench,
For I was their shore, and home sake,
Inking grief from the darkest trench.
When pain is the only tale our heart wants to remember, it will go to lengths of masochism to keep taunting the phantom whispers of kisses and love.
