There is always a time,
Where my heart begins to clear,
And,
My weary lungs,
Cry in relief.
My head still may ache,
For it has been dragged so raw,
But,
My lips may finally rise,
For my cheeks to peacefully rest upon.
At last my soul may relax,
Panic slowly drifting,
Off my shaky silhouette.
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 4:29 PM UTC
There is always a time,
Where my heart begins to clear,
And,
My weary lungs,
Cry in relief.
My head still may ache,
For it has been dragged so raw,
But,
My lips may finally rise,
For my cheeks to peacefully rest upon.
At last my soul may relax,
Panic slowly drifting,
Off my shaky silhouette.