Broken is my soul,
A faint pulse gasping into the void.
But no on can rescue those like me.
Cradle my mind and body,
Whispering promises that'll fade with time,
'Cause no one comes for those like me.
Lend me your hands, and grasp mine,
'Til white knuckles gleam red, fingers fall weak, when you come to realize your efforts meant nothing,
You can't make use of time with those like me.
But suddenly, through the frigid atmosphere, you make contact with my hidden hark. You've pillaged through the darkness to my soul's purest form, snapping the lock to the cage and slipping me from my shackles. You desperately hold me close, as if I could slip away into the void at any given moment if you didn't keep me close.
And as we float there, in our most vulnerable of states, my wails shatter the once stagnant silence, as clarity clears my conscious...
... You're like me.
YOU ARE READING
Vent Book
PoesíaA combination of random sayings, songs or poems that I'll randomly jot down sometimes.
