Mar 2014
How do you rest
after the days
that spins your mind
Into unrest;
Is there a place
that nights are kind
Is my distress
can't be erased
and redesigned
Into a zest
that I dare taste
the hope to find
From a hopeless
pile of 'today's
I can't unwind
after the days
that spins your mind
Into unrest;
Is there a place
that nights are kind
Is my distress
can't be erased
and redesigned
Into a zest
that I dare taste
the hope to find
From a hopeless
pile of 'today's
I can't unwind
There are always stories. Just on the back of our minds. It's the pressure in our chest, the restlessness in our head, the tingling in our fingers, the ache in our eyes. But sometimes, you just can't get it all out. Cause not all stories can be told.
