A wanderer traverses through time,
looking for what is already there.
There is a difference when one finds its origin,
you can’t find love if you don’t open yourself for pain.
This person goes to lengths I would not dare,
to prove to themselves love doesn’t exist.
Punch after punch to make what they see,
when did love become so selfish anyway?
This person gave and gave more through pain,
knowing there would be only sorrow.
Opened chest to reveal a true heart,
only to be broken in the name of love.
Still passion flows through the veins of this soul,
even though torture is brought on in spades.
Lying to only their self to save face,
as tears do fall, they fall hard when alone.
I have said “cry me a river of blood and in my heart you’ll have a home’,
I just never wanted to be right for myself.
The shaking sets in and all’s left is remorse,
laying alone with only shadows to blame.
The hardest part of this tale is too close for comfort,
because this tale is all about me.
Johnny Newell
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