The dim street lamps flickered to the light thumping in her pulse. With dragging feet, escapism remained distant from possible. She left trails of hauling marks, and painfully, she takes a scarring journey back to nowhere. Her skin inflicted with marks of rust and bruises, those that resemble agony. She; her chain's possession.

Likewise, anguish that persistently lingers, will blemish how love takes effect on both parties. Involvement gone wrong will stain impressions, mentalities and view points, be it good or bad. Love shouldn't be having to rule, but to act in self-control and discression; not to order and instruct, but to perform according to what a heart prompts. Having said this, I can only conclude that I am in no sustaining sturdy strength to love the method/way/manner I should and must. Commitment carries no importance, shared moments are second-rated.

This morning, I woke up to a part of me perished.