Silent rivers fall from her eyes
But nobody hears her muffled cries
And she lets the blood drip from her veins
She's numb to the world but alive to this pain
Tired of the life she's forced to live
Can't seem to find a reason to breathe
Dreams vanished, hopes disappeared
Living the nightmare that filled her with dread
At night, she lays, wishing she was dead
But if she ever does need me, I'd be her friend.
Litterator.
YOU ARE READING
The Lonely Hour
PoetryIt is in the silence of the lonely hour that one's thoughts are the loudest. Litterator
