Sitting in my pasture, the wind blows all around The grass is dancing, the creatures make sounds Picking a flower from it's resting place I try to think back to all the memories I should erase Everything I remember of you, clings right onto me Haunting me forever and more, it just won't let me be So I pick a petal off "He loves me" I utter I pick another petal off "He loves me not" I mutter And so I spend my wasted hours, picking away my life Remembering how I used to think of being your wife You broke my heart, and I picked it up and cried Trying not to feel the happiness that had suddenly died Glueing back together, what I thought that I could fix But I'm just picking flower petal, as time ticks "He loves me, he loves me not, oh how I want to die, Just fall away into this pasture, and live within the sky" The flower I have picked, is now limply dead Picked away at until there were no more answers said And oh, how the conclusion, isn't what I sought.... "He loves me....He loves me not...." -Heather AKA Gothic Angel
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