Indecisive

Indecisive

Quiet whispers,

And thoughtless imaginations,

Fulfills the truth,

That lies within the heart.

The heart beats,

And uncontrollable defeats,

With anger,

And other stuff that contrast,

The fears,

From damaging and preparing,

Itself to one’s peers,

That lies still,

And speak quiet whispers,

In one’s ears,

With debatable beliefs,

From the hard and cold tears,

That stay in the corner,

Of one’s eye that,

Makes it hard to fall,

And even easier to not,

Cry.

The dents in the pillow to,

Where one’s head rested and layed,

And the mind and body and soul,

Is released.

To help the gray,

That takes over your life,

Vanish and disappear,

Which you thought you were incapable of,
Of controlling,

The quiet whispers,

And little whimpers,

That no one hears but you.

Take me to the point of,

My poems,

These ones and those ones,

Help my reader read,

And understand that my,

Words are,

True.

I am itching to be loved.

I just wonder if that itch really had,

Grew.