Reblogged from yahoonews
Hyfee
“What we call chaos is just patterns we haven't recognized yet.”
She cried alone
None could hear her moan
Writhing in pain
The cause was not plain
An affliction of the heart
With no known start
No end in sight
She thought with fright
The only peace is death
And yearned for the last breath
Tomorrow is another day
Let’s go pretend and play
Wandering this world alone
A girl of skin and bone
No heart to be seen
Not wise nor too keen
A body of the gods
A soul mixed in odds
Life in a masquerade
She preferred the shade
Because she may melt
If someday she felt
A woman of ice,
Shattered into a million pieces
One for everyone,
Nothing of her
“The drink made past happy things contemporary with the present, as if they were still going on, contemporary even with the future as if they were about to happen again.” — Tender is the Night, F. Scott Fitzgerald
