The soul of a man is well defined by the actions of his love. His heart he wore on his sleeve and covered with pain worse than what protects us from above. She walks like a ghost in his mind. And remains in his past. He wears a mask, to hide it from the world as his task. His love was within his grasp. Yet, he couldn't help to keep away his past. Care has slipped through his veins as he slit them to see if he forgot her name. Yet in pain he cried her name on his lips. He lost the feeling of his fingertips and yet the touch of his fingers through her hair was flowing through his nerves. He verved in agony and his shelter was the thought of his death. Yet he let her back in his soul, tis that which was ready his body was willing yet his mind did not want to have her to hold. She broke his soul and crushed his heart again which was cruel and cold. Yet he felt no pain cause you cannot break what is already shattered. He remained torn and tattered, she didn't look to have him repaired. She no longer loved him and he no longer cared. As she walked away again and he lived his life. He walked the earth alone and she became someone else's wife. Like a knife through his throat, his life didn't make him gloat. He waits for the day he will find happiness again he has no intention of starting from scratch. His soul rests yet his love continuously does march. The soul is a delight which one cannot par take. The soul remain reminiscent and your smile remains fake. He ignores her as her happiness he can't forsake.
Written and composed by
Timothy Justin Rudolph Rodricks
