I am on a battlefield, with a thousand wounds that burn my skin
Cold swords had driven through them, and ointment can't heal them,
They just need your touch, as it's not the pain that hurts, It's the void heart.
Colder than Atlantis and wrecked like broken glass,
Not that I am beneath the winter or above the fallen stars,
There's nothing much more, except for the empty dark.
It's not the freezing coldness, it's the void heart.
I pluck out a piece of my dream, enough to make me laugh,
A memory full of you and me, enough to give some warmth.
And till the end of this world, I will remain on this warpath,
Hoping that one day, you will mend this void heart.
YOU ARE READING
An Ode to Melancholy
PoetryThe ink made of sky Drenches the dusty page Tales that dropped From the clouds in my head. •More Than Ever Blue •The Monsters Who Wore Human Flesh •The Tale of That Time •In Loving Memory of •Void Heart •The Wounded Child •The Fallen Fate •Unlike t...
