Flashing lights, paper faces
all trying to have their places
In this big world of mischief
Guns at hand, readied warships.
Blood, blood, everything's red
as we lay on our resting bed
Fire, desire, faults, and sins
we're crumbling into paper thins.
Falling short of being worthy
falling short of our destiny
we fall short of lost time
we fall short of seeing the signs
Nothing ever goes to plan
nothing stays within your hands
they slip away into the air
and all you can do is stare.
YOU ARE READING
~Voices~
PoetryThis is a compilation of my poems/unfathomable thoughts about depression. I do hope I can portray some of the problems you guys are facing as well.. and if you have requests or stories...I would love to interpret them in rhyme and sincerety WARNING:...
