I read the thoughts of others; in but a line I can feel the pain. It radiates through the text, the author's intent-
It slathers through your heart, leaving nothing the same
The passion filled sadness of every word, creates an indent: the anxiety of silence that can be heard echos through your head
The stories of love, heart break and death
Register in your soul - the ache , the chasm like depth
'Someone help me- someone save me from myself" is but a plea that we ignore with the silence we speak ourselves.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 2:25 AM UTC
I read the thoughts of others; in but a line I can feel the pain. It radiates through the text, the author's intent-
It slathers through your heart, leaving nothing the same
The passion filled sadness of every word, creates an indent: the anxiety of silence that can be heard echos through your head
The stories of love, heart break and death
Register in your soul - the ache , the chasm like depth
'Someone help me- someone save me from myself" is but a plea that we ignore with the silence we speak ourselves.