The hand that penned those words was mine,
but the soul behind them
the crimson flame and silver tongue that spoke them
isn't me anymore.
I'm not her;
Hell I'm barely me.
I remember her
in the way one remembers a long lost friend.
Distantly and with fond thoughts.
Those words are no longer my words
for I am not that soul.
I am a shell of who I was.
A broken, tired, warrior fought too long.
I've lost her hope her happiness.
I've watched her dreams die.
I've given up everything she wanted.
I've changed
I don't know who I'll become or where I'm going
but I'm not her anymore.
Nov 10, 2017
Nov 10, 2017 at 11:41 PM UTC
The hand that penned those words was mine,
but the soul behind them
the crimson flame and silver tongue that spoke them
isn't me anymore.
I'm not her;
Hell I'm barely me.
I remember her
in the way one remembers a long lost friend.
Distantly and with fond thoughts.
Those words are no longer my words
for I am not that soul.
I am a shell of who I was.
A broken, tired, warrior fought too long.
I've lost her hope her happiness.
I've watched her dreams die.
I've given up everything she wanted.
I've changed
I don't know who I'll become or where I'm going
but I'm not her anymore.
