Author Miss Parisia B.
I have no more left to give.
I birthed love, and now it has left me.
I loved another, so now it no longer seeks me.
I cultivated a purpose and turned it into gold.
I shared with all, and now it means nothing to me.
I held it to the highest regard when it was given to me.
But now I have nothing left to give.
It isn’t to say you aren’t enough. To say we haven’t created it.
But you’re unwilling to break your heart and allow me a demonstration.
I’ve forgotten what it looks like.
Its youthfulness runs amuck and screams my name, but it doesn’t sound familiar.
I was baptized in its climax, and now I’m drowning in its neglect.
Living in its disharmonious bliss.
So I must go. I must leave.
I regret not satisfying my own need.
Love is pure, and therefore it can’t find its form in me.
So I must leave. I must go.
I just wanted to let you know.