booktowrite

Reaching out, reaching out but my hands simply grasp in the dark. My heart leaps and misses. My mind fails to connect. Love is a death pool. And here I am, the fool who still hopes and clings and strives only to be greeted with a dark and bitter silence. There are some who remain upon the periphery, always afraid of being too close or of giving too much, but there are others who simply dwindle and disappear they are so deeply lost in their lives of convention and routine. Im a broken record, a broken heart, a hopeless and broken fool who still clings to bonds long since severed by one of the atoms.