words are words are words.

words are words are words.
it is how that we string them together.
that can ether wound or heal.
I have been wounded to many time,
almost beyond my ability to heal.
I wish that it were different,
and that I could understand again.
the truth of the matter is,
there is nothing past our ability to believe,
or to have faith in.
I understand,
but I am never understood.
surely it is true,
that none of this will never happen again.
is this what is meant by wasting our time.
will I find love,
does it really matter.
I see my mistakes,
and there is nothing left for me to do,
except to dream a little longer,
work a little harder, 
laugh a little louder.
who will share with me my joys and sorrows.
 I doubt that I will ever be happy again.
silence.
solitude without ending.
all that I have right now is time,
and that is slowly slipping away,
one day at a time.

words are words are words.
it is how we string them together,
that can wound,
and can heal,