METH

METH

I have felt the worst of life,

As a result of the strife,

The strife that tackles my mind,

Or perhaps my heart,

I miss the happy thoughts in my mind,

They were so sweet and kind,

The perfect pleasure of happiness,

The type that’s perfect, a La Carte,

The type of happiness that is forever,

That besides life and all it’s choppines,

It looses its Power, Never,

I miss love,

Oh that kind affection,

As pure as the feathers of a white dove,

A true, beatiful connection

Love, where art though?