Sometimes

Tue, 12/01/2015 - 09:54 -- xhxhyla

Sometimes I think about the way it used to be. 

 

Simple. Happy. 

 

And suddenly I am left with a burning in my chest,

A longing for things that have been and can never be again. 

 

And I find myself thinking of the way things are now.

 

Complicated. Cold.

 

And I am left with nothing but a dull numbness spreading throughout my body,

Freezing me from the inside out until I am nothing but a frigid shell. 

 

That's when I realize that there is no going back. 

 

You cannot fix a broken soul; you cannot give life to the dead.  

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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