By: The Drifter from Heaven
Our union was grand—a vast kingdom we’d known,
Now scattered and ruined, like seeds that were blown.
My heart is the floor, and it yields to the weight
Of a silence that hardens like cold, bitter fate.
It crushes my soul—like a bone under stone,
Leaving my throat with a jagged, low groan.
Our melody breaks—a grim dirge for the worn,
As my heart starts to mourn for the love we have torn.
And every day brings a heavy sensation—
A house with no heart, and a cracked foundation.
Apr 12
Apr 12, 2026 at 5:05 PM UTC
By: The Drifter from Heaven
Our union was grand—a vast kingdom we’d known,
Now scattered and ruined, like seeds that were blown.
My heart is the floor, and it yields to the weight
Of a silence that hardens like cold, bitter fate.
It crushes my soul—like a bone under stone,
Leaving my throat with a jagged, low groan.
Our melody breaks—a grim dirge for the worn,
As my heart starts to mourn for the love we have torn.
And every day brings a heavy sensation—
A house with no heart, and a cracked foundation.