My protoplasmic shell sits warm in the Summer sun,
while my soul lies trapped in the frozen tundra.
The two cannot coexist, without negating creation;
resulting in, psychological frustration.
An impasse in the innards of a ruined soul,
between warring generals of Good and Evil.
Time will not heal, nor will the Summer sun loosen their grasp.
Instead I remind myself of the days we spent together.
Remembering the good, the bad, and everything between.
A tickle of warmth, to break the firing line, a brief reprieve.
Living like a slave to buried memories.
We shined like the brightest stars
even on the darkest of nights.
Yet we never knew when to give up a fight.
I guess this is where I find the light,
or recess into the shadow-less night.
love… will I ever get you right?
Reblogged this on The Way it Goes.