For my hurt goes beyond
the creation theory,
where my words poisoned atmosphere at core.
My emotions turnished the most pure heart to iron,
but how can I suggest or propose the idea of connecting,
when my heart is as cold as ice.
My actions don’t speak,

they shout of my evil ways.
Sorry, is what I’m not,
for apology has never been my real ideal of asking to be forgiven.
The words spewed and actions acknowledged my own divorce to reality,
I watched,
as the world came to a stop,
and the spreading of the humorous seed sprout from the actions of my enemies.
How should I advocate for a pain that never reached beneath my skin,
nor emotionally crumbled my way of thinking.
I wrote of you,
but my words were not heavy enough to reach your glorious skies.
I burdened the clouds with my emotions,
only to fall on everyone of the remnants.
Broken hearts, now broken cities.

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