But if you chased my
demons away, what am I
really left with?
Angels don't know what
it's like to be an
To want to speak. And not to know how.
To feel. And not to know what.
To be dead, and breathing; somehow.
Sometimes you can feel the void. The emptiness. You can feel the wind blow through the chambers of your heart. And sometimes, there's a haunting silence; the sound of ghosts of all the people I've ever loved.
"I've got an infinite number of places to go, the problem is where to stay."
Where do all those unexpressed emotions go?
Do they die, or maybe they just wander around inside?
Is my heart a grave yard...Or a town full of words yearning to be heard?
You squeeze all the
love out of me.
Then you leave me
on poles to dry, hanging.
I gave her my heart, but she never cares for it.
It just sits there...