A nightmarish world,
half-awake and half underground;
the smell of cinnamon coats the air
as I remember how to be here-
the blood on the carpet
and the souls in the sky
tell me to
make up my mind
but I cannot seem to run fast enough,
after all,
I am only a child.
I am not a tragic ending or a storm below the stirring Earth, I am not your empty vessel nor am I a glass of dirt. I have never been full...
Belonging is difficult and sometimes a battle on a field littered with bones. Those of us who never got a say in this destiny lay...
Fragments of myself fell off until I had lost them all, I had lost the soul until I was nothing but a performing shell- I had forgotten...
Commentaires