Friday, April 06, 2012

Daisy, Daisy

He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
Around and around I go,
Letting petals fall to the floor.
The stems are just skeletons
of something once so beautiful.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
Atleast that's what I thought.
He loves me not.
Or does he?
He loves me.
He loves me?
Now there's a graveyard of feelings,
looking up at me from my feet.
It's as if each and every petal
is telling me the same thing.
He loves me?
He loves me not.
He loves me.
As I pick up my last victim,
it's center stares at me.
I can hear the petals of the past whisper,
it's time to face the truth.
I ignore it's soft touch
as I start one last time.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
The guilt of my heart knows better,
and it causes me to stop.
This flower grows heavy in my hand
as I begin again.
He loves me.
He loves me not.
He loves me.
And?
I love him not.
I love him.
I love him not.
I love him.
I love him not.
I...

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