In this shallow world,
Your voice is just a morbid sound
Which scares away the birds,
Across the hand of the horizon
Your paper thin hope burns,
Alive, but was it truly it?
Cuz every word you say,
Vocalizes over mellow shivers of waves,
Shivers of condencent words,
Were you truly alive?
Your voice is breaking,
Your hope is fading,
Your tree is burning
Your soul is resting.
In this crooked mind of yours,
The air is abundant and dense,
All the way in the back of your head
You sob, breathing your tears deep in your lungs,
Alive, but was it truly it?
For it shall collapse,
The sorrow from tomorrow,
The pain in your soul,
The despite inside your stomach,
The morbid thought in the back of your head;
It's the muted note behind the broken chord.
YOU ARE READING
My inner darkness
HorrorMost of the people describe sadness as an atributal feeling , a certain state of mind you are in when you feel too overwhelmed of everything going on around you. Some people tend to get stuck in their own piece of world until the storm is gone. I...
