You were always good to me, I was always trying to see, if your voice had any symphony, but really it was destiny. your voice was full of things I lack, love and loyalty and you never crack, through my cursed sense of empathy, my words poured out of my simple soul inside of me. I want to leave and be alone, being full of things you own, this isn't gold it's painted stone, you aren't real and real has went home. Your heart is made of leather and your mind isn't any better, you fake your love for living life you would gladly break my heart tonight, the devil reeps and you're out of sight, if you're the devil then I'm going to fight. And your soul is paper and your arms are sewn, your entire life isn't gold it's painted stone.
YOU ARE READING
Words We Can't Say
PoetryA collection of poems for the voices that go unheard. -WARNING- Some of these poems may touch on subjects involving depression, anxiety and other things you may not be comfortable with.
