The doctor made a suggestion..
He said a surgery would do.
It'd make me feel better,
It'd make it so I can control my breathing..
Even when I think of you.

This operation can pry my heart back,
Apart from your gripping fists,
Where it can rest..
Do to a time of treachery..
Our year of bullshit serenity:
Heaven at its best.

Side affects are thoughts of you often,
Your voice in my head,
And seeing you with her,
Hand in hand.

A surgery called time..
I've given it almost a year, sweetheart..
And you still won't escape my mind,
Your grip is still too strong.

Some treatments just won't work,
The doctor will say
When I hand out my so many complaints..

Complaints about how you're still just an echo..
How you still say those things..
How you still hold her hand,
And why won't I ever mean anything?

And this was all started
From a sharp pain in my heart..
The day I saw you,
And it wouldn't stop.



-I've had writer's block for so long, and I somehow managed to squeeze this
out. I'm not sure if you liked it, but I wrote it, so it's up.-
 
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