They say it pretty much hurts.
Hurts pretty much, they say.
But when you over boil with your misery.
Who will come by, by the end of the day.
You feel too bruised to even turn back,
too numb to even feel those bruises.
But they are invisible,
the best kind.

But what’s that aching in your chest?
The pounding from an object, all scarlet and bold.
From those hidden feelings you feel.
Just turned too cold.
Too cold to even attempt, the impossible.
Nothing is impossible right?
Ha Ha Ha.
When you look into his eyes,
You feel the impossible.
Impossibility from what you could of done.
What you should have done.
But did not do.
Regret.

 
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