her voice is as beautiful as the sun disappearing below the horizon, as fresh as the cold breeze that gently kisses your skin underneath the moonlight and as calming as a cup of coffee on a rainy day.
her voice echoed sorrow wherever she sang. it was almost enchanting. her voice had its own soul; even more than she has ever had.
singing was her escape; a way to let out all her emotions buried deep inside the painful gashes of her poor heart.
her voice was grace, beauty, enchantment; all the good and sorrowful words in the dictionary fit perfectly.
her voice conveyed emotions she couldn't express with words. her voice was hauntingly sorrowful. it reaches into the crevices of your heart and leaves a scar that makes your heart hurt for her.
it was art; she was art. everything about her is beautiful, from her voice that makes your heart ache to her empty soul she couldn't quite fill. everything, and all of her, is beautiful.
she just can't see it yet.
YOU ARE READING
words i am unable to express
Poesiehere, i place the words i am unable to express. let this be my comfort zone, a place where i vent out all my hidden feelings. it won't necessarily touch hearts, it won't necessarily meet standards but it will be my place. where i lay and where i fe...
