By: p.a. LEX
This is a story for you. You, who have captured the remaining piece of me. I was a shattered masterpiece that was waiting for its inevitable destruction, yet you denied my entrance to oblivion. You, who bent down and carried the mass of darkness on your shoulder-this is all for you.
Every second was like death twice closer. I was a tin soldier to the colonel of pain; walking with no direction, and seeing blindly. How can I let people discern that I'm suffering though smiling? How could I let them see that beyond this locked door there is nothing but sadness?
There were no words exchanged between us, yet you knew everything that my lips were begging to say. You saw me with just a glance-whilst others still can not see as I stood naked in front of them. You were just a stranger that passed by yet you called me by my name. I was no one but you knew of my pain. I didn't realize that you held a key that came to open my thoughts. So I wrote a story for you, hoping you'd pass by my direction-hoping for you to free me once more.
YOU ARE READING
Pages of Despondence
PuisiA batch of poetries and short stories for the broken. You may portray it in any way you want. Most of my works are for the abused, scorned and rejected.
