I've got a license to burn,
burn with a beautiful tenderness,
something you never seem to give.
I'm held up in this wretched spider web,
and I keep floating inside our world;
I'm caught between loving and reality,
and I can't find happiness resting in my soul.
My burning heart won't seem to thump now,
it just seems to slowly trimmer with deep sorrow.
You were my loving hope through all these years,
now, there is no hope waiting here for my tomorrow.
These cliche', horrid lines roll off of my tongue,
back to back to back. And then back to back again.
Yet, no matter what I say in this moment of truth,
your feet seem incapable of turning around for my heart.
Your back is now permanently imprinted on my eyelids.
I've never written such horrid things as these right here,
but I've been trying to forget these things for far too long,
and I think that I'm finally able to see: that's the problem -
I've been too busy trying to forget love that I never received.
Arran Foong
6 October 2010
11.56 P.M
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