We are no birds.
We are prisoners kept away from light.
We are not as sharp but are blurred.
We are storms that only destroy sight.

We are finished.
We lie in the deep ends of nowhere.
We all are blemished.
We all waver.

We all are a disuse to life.
We just get pulled deeper into our mistakes.
We all have stories like mine.
We all just are an ache.

But whatever we are, we still are until it's the end.

If the Frisbee you throw,
doesn't come back,
it was never yours to begin with.

If you want to fill,
the huge hole in your heart,
cover it up with your new found thoughts.