the heart ack of self dout.

Sleight of heart, with no trick up my sleeve, the positive thought killed by the negative need. The need to need someone who needs me, with no turning back as I walk into the sea. The moon calls and the clouds part. Call me circus of fools for sharing my heart. And the thing about a broken heart is, sooner or later the pieces are so small it doesn't matter when ever you give, them up, as they can never be fixed, like a jigsaw puzzle missing a piece.