By: The-Drifter-From-Heaven
The Isolation ground the flesh from my bone,
It feels like my body is drag in rough stone,
Feels like a controlled suffocation of pain,
My lungs tried to scream— yet I can't even moan.
This silence is no longer peace, but a chain,
That even my weary soul begins to drain,
This loneliness has caused my whole heart to rot,
Leaving me praying, in solitary vain.
Now I feel my wind pipe is crushed, tied in knot,
It felt the whole world planned and lay down this plot,
A dark vision I was born trap and alone,
My gift is—I was born with mind fully blot.
Apr 16
Apr 16, 2026 at 6:41 AM UTC
By: The-Drifter-From-Heaven
The Isolation ground the flesh from my bone,
It feels like my body is drag in rough stone,
Feels like a controlled suffocation of pain,
My lungs tried to scream— yet I can't even moan.
This silence is no longer peace, but a chain,
That even my weary soul begins to drain,
This loneliness has caused my whole heart to rot,
Leaving me praying, in solitary vain.
Now I feel my wind pipe is crushed, tied in knot,
It felt the whole world planned and lay down this plot,
A dark vision I was born trap and alone,
My gift is—I was born with mind fully blot.