millions of midnights
and showers of sorrows
with a burden heavy enough
for death
as if i gathered the stars
to only have my fingers pricked
by its edges of poison
with the drop of blood
creates a flood to drown souls
and surrender their bodies
and forget the core of dreams
in which the wide pitch black sky
torched my fears ablaze
creating wrath
instead of light
the heat melting the iron fists
of the false higher ones
acting like Gods with power
but in one hit
they crash like any other
and we
disproving their mockery
breaking their dark walls
filled with hate
and fraud
and vanity
and finishing their reign
with the voices
that intend to speak
but still
this voices
are in a state of grief
and depression
and diffidence
that their bravery
is just redundancy
and their mouths must be
unknown
but maybe on a someday
it will all be clear
that everyone
isn't good enough
that everyone
isn't perfect
but everyone
is a *somebody