It becomes as it sounds,
Where youâ€™re reaching a point,
On becoming that to see what is before oneâ€™s eyes,
If it is worth the time or not . . .
In a case like this,
Oh yes there were times that it was fine,
It was all but nothing to walk away.
Wonder of how time goes,
In few lucky moments,
Itâ€™s short and engaging as spreading sea salt,
Over an open flesh wound,
And silence never leaves one throat.
Maybe in time the wound will heal,
And a joyful face will grace upon oneself,
But now a face of confusion is all there really is.
To see what eyes have come upon,
Undoing will never happen,
For itâ€™s there,
Hollow in the easiest way of saying it,
Worth a moment,
Differs for those unknown of whatâ€™s to come.
But as again,
Itâ€™s reaching a point,
To really care anymore,
Lacking any care is now,
Moving on is the next move.
Be done now,
And let it die,
As a slow but soon healing,
Scar fading in era.