I wonder if you are the cheractors you write about

Because every time you read me your poetry
You forget you are talking to me
I see you try to hide in your words
Scared of the scars on your heart
So you dress your emotions in empty oceans
Painting beautiful art in a desert full of feelings
Sand storms cover your hope
so you turn to faith
But end up preaching to atheists and narcissists
Who only believe in nothing but themselves

Stolen souls taken by 12 thieves
Empty bottles used to heal bandaged scars