A bee stung itself

I wish to pretend I’m okay
whenever you say ‘there’s no WE’
but deep down inside there’s
an ocean stopping itself to form a tsunami.

It’s like a breeze slapping me
with cold reality. I’m like a bee stung
with its own self.

If only you know how much it hurts…

there’s no cure for being in love with you.

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The Poetess
Erratic. Playful. Poetic.
Articles: 93

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