If I were me,
I wouldn’t feel sorry for myself too.
Sounds are many,
Sounds are constant.
Silence, laughter, chaos, crushing spirits.
Why even is she here, questions limit to purpose no more.
Just crushing spirits, since the time she was born.
Goodness is a lie, or atleast that which she serves.
Prancing,loud, fumbling, heartbeats,
Icy warm, what’s left anymore?
Just crushing spirits.
Repent, omit feeling sorry for yourself,you just can’t.
It’s a joke, anything that ever seemed beautiful was a joke.
there’s nothing more to you, it’s a joke,
Funny how it’s a joke.
Dry dusty winds, tears barely make their ways through it.
For once could she hold it still.
Never cared, she never will.
what hurts more than crushing spirits?
You keep on looking for hands and ears,
you’ve been a burden all along,
sorry, not a tinch of exaggeration.
Drink back, gulp it all,
present what people deserve,
She is the evil, she’s always been,
Why the fuck does it hurt her still?
Hands around her neck all day,
making her quiver & shiver,
she’s the fucking evil.
why did she learn about objects and being,
She can’t go back feeling like a being.
Maybe there’s light,
Not for her, she’s the fucking evil,
Marry your thoughts, hold them close,
Live your life which you dearly chose.
Rejoice rejoice!! She’s gone,
Only amidst dark, shut, breathless rooms,
Will she be born.