I want to be the hands
that aid
the hurting heart, left and ignored
that shed
those tears in silence
the grief when the sobbing is not heard
because the voice of insurgent is too loud
I want to be the words
that comfort
the most restless of bodies, almost every night
that lifts
every of those who has thoughts about giving up
I want to be the hands
as well as the voice
that stop those innocent wrists from being slit
from bleeding unceasingly
the arms
that hug the body that wishes to willingly jump down
from the highest building in town
No other trigger will be pulled
No other rope will be hung
No other life will be taken
As long as there's hope
Oct 12, 2013
Oct 12, 2013 at 10:23 AM UTC
I want to be the hands
that aid
the hurting heart, left and ignored
that shed
those tears in silence
the grief when the sobbing is not heard
because the voice of insurgent is too loud
I want to be the words
that comfort
the most restless of bodies, almost every night
that lifts
every of those who has thoughts about giving up
I want to be the hands
as well as the voice
that stop those innocent wrists from being slit
from bleeding unceasingly
the arms
that hug the body that wishes to willingly jump down
from the highest building in town
No other trigger will be pulled
No other rope will be hung
No other life will be taken
As long as there's hope
Because I was once, too, among the 'almost hopeless'. Yes, I used to have depressions. And I hurt myself. There's hope.
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