4d
If it isn’t you, then who is it?
You see, happiness is a fleeting visitor, while sorrow is a permanent resident.
The silence after the storm is the loudest sound; it’s the space left by the echos of what’s lost forever.
You see, the hardest thing about letting go isn’t the goodbye, it’s the constant, quiet ache of what it could have been.
So here I lie in the house of broken glass carrying the weight of unspoken words and a silent symphony of regrets.
As the world continues its vibrant dance, oblivious to the quiet death of my heart, time freezes almost literally, and every sunrise mocks the darkness that has settled within me.
The weight of the world settles on my shoulders, a burden to heavy to bear, yet you can take the world off my shoulders so it wouldn’t be hard to move, but you’d rather wait until I’m crying and calling for help…
You see, the beauty of the world is a cruel irony, a painful reminder of what I cannot feel.
Silence screams louder than any sorrow I could express.
My life is a house of broken glass; beautiful from afar, but dangerous to touch. A memory each shard a moment, sharp and fleeting, beautiful and painful.
You see, happiness is a fleeting visitor, while sorrow is a permanent resident.
The silence after the storm is the loudest sound; it’s the space left by the echos of what’s lost forever.
You see, the hardest thing about letting go isn’t the goodbye, it’s the constant, quiet ache of what it could have been.
So here I lie in the house of broken glass carrying the weight of unspoken words and a silent symphony of regrets.
As the world continues its vibrant dance, oblivious to the quiet death of my heart, time freezes almost literally, and every sunrise mocks the darkness that has settled within me.
The weight of the world settles on my shoulders, a burden to heavy to bear, yet you can take the world off my shoulders so it wouldn’t be hard to move, but you’d rather wait until I’m crying and calling for help…
You see, the beauty of the world is a cruel irony, a painful reminder of what I cannot feel.
Silence screams louder than any sorrow I could express.
My life is a house of broken glass; beautiful from afar, but dangerous to touch. A memory each shard a moment, sharp and fleeting, beautiful and painful.
This poem goes over what it\'s like to suffer from sorrow and regret, and what it\'s like to not be heard or understood by people. This poem explains the reason why people fall silent. My goal for this poem is to relate to people or to explain to people who are oblivious to what\'s going on with someone. I hope you enjoy this poem.
