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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I console my pain with words that mean nothing to the process of amending. Heartbroken, in need of a spared token. From the pages of the book of love. I fell and in the aftermath I was greeted by nurses in scrubs. Wise words can't weather the blizzard, I try to amend my once warm soul with fabrics of vain luxury. Hoping these linens and satins will rid these chills abruptly. All it does is dress me down in depression. Until I minimally look good while still stressing. While chasing fool's gold, I became buried in the mine shaft. Neglecting emotions and ridding my problems with anatomical toxins, has become my craft. I look to the sky for answers with blank expression. The sharp dullness of my reality serves as a lesson. I grow bitter with thoughts of my limited ceiling. My emptiness upon my reflection in a pond is significantly revealing. Taking steps to provide my conscience with healing. But it's like I'm running in circles because I cannot rid the feeling. Overwhelming sorrow and boulders of pain rested on each shoulder. As the burdens of my world grow, it gets heavier and the world turns colder. Feeling like a child soldier ripped from the hands of beloved bliss. Forced to take up arms for battle with the demons that aim to put shackles on my wrists. Sad to say, but I believe that this battle will end in defeat. And so will the war. The longer I fight, I lose sight of what I'm fighting for. So this will be another irrelevant page from the book of consolation to my desolation.
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