Unaware of these scars
for they are beneath the skin.
The air of radiance and joy;
a facade,
one that fools even I.
Still, there's no escaping the night;
the lonesome quiet,
the heart's drumming,
the mind racing,
igniting a riot.
No calm by the sea
or by city light,
by white sand
or gray concrete.
This visceral yearning
will not cease.
Nov 9, 2018
Nov 9, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
Unaware of these scars
for they are beneath the skin.
The air of radiance and joy;
a facade,
one that fools even I.
Still, there's no escaping the night;
the lonesome quiet,
the heart's drumming,
the mind racing,
igniting a riot.
No calm by the sea
or by city light,
by white sand
or gray concrete.
This visceral yearning
will not cease.