Happiness; it hides away
No light shines on me today
Soul is made of broken bones
Spirit sings its lonely moans
Tomorrow is a brand new day
The hope is that I fade away
The voice has lost it’s faithful ways
The hands no longer feel embrace
Thoughts they breathe of yesterday
My heart, it fleas; a castaway
Eyes of broken window glass
No time for me, he’s come at last
The darkness guides me, with it’s craze
These feelings now, an endless maze
Can I fix this hole i’ve made?
Can I fix this inhumane?
A whisper of the heart unsung
Tears are falling, still I’m numb
Another one has taken my place
A new name, a new face
I’ve taken my sane
It’s me whose to blame
Couldn’t find my soul a home
Grinded down, right to the bone
Another perfect wannabee
I ate the fruit of apple tree
Could I wake another day?
Could I wake a pure saint?
But time my friend reiterates
This could be my early grave
Aug 30, 2025
Aug 30, 2025 at 3:16 AM UTC
Happiness; it hides away
No light shines on me today
Soul is made of broken bones
Spirit sings its lonely moans
Tomorrow is a brand new day
The hope is that I fade away
The voice has lost it’s faithful ways
The hands no longer feel embrace
Thoughts they breathe of yesterday
My heart, it fleas; a castaway
Eyes of broken window glass
No time for me, he’s come at last
The darkness guides me, with it’s craze
These feelings now, an endless maze
Can I fix this hole i’ve made?
Can I fix this inhumane?
A whisper of the heart unsung
Tears are falling, still I’m numb
Another one has taken my place
A new name, a new face
I’ve taken my sane
It’s me whose to blame
Couldn’t find my soul a home
Grinded down, right to the bone
Another perfect wannabee
I ate the fruit of apple tree
Could I wake another day?
Could I wake a pure saint?
But time my friend reiterates
This could be my early grave
this poem is the sound of someone speaking from inside that early grave