All the words that I create,
To substantiate the years of hate,
That dwell within my blackened heart,
of my own making right from the start.
Oh why did I never stop to ponder,
This ceaseless tide that drags me under.
Pulled back and forth my emotions fly,
And I'm left asking why why why.
So here I sit in the final throes
Of turmoil dread and solemn woes.
Perhaps I'll find my peace at last,
But I should of been more brave and asked,
For help that I may of received,
Of those that loved me who've cried and grieved.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 4:39 PM UTC
All the words that I create,
To substantiate the years of hate,
That dwell within my blackened heart,
of my own making right from the start.
Oh why did I never stop to ponder,
This ceaseless tide that drags me under.
Pulled back and forth my emotions fly,
And I'm left asking why why why.
So here I sit in the final throes
Of turmoil dread and solemn woes.
Perhaps I'll find my peace at last,
But I should of been more brave and asked,
For help that I may of received,
Of those that loved me who've cried and grieved.