Pain. The kind that a tidal wave can't wash away
It drives away all attempts of inspiration,
Dulling down all hope and expectation.
Rain. When a storm of pain overcomes your being,
Every word is a beating, every thought rings
to you as reason for not existing.
Shame. The kind that feels it will never wear away
Instead you tear inside, making it hard to hide
From the merciless juror within.
Play. A stage is set for an empty play,
A magnificent facade in which you hide
To fool the eye of others.

It's a race against time,
A race for uncovering yourself.
It's when truth hurts the most and you remember the pain,
But the lies they burn an eternal stain.
Walls inside your walls,
Find yourself to be an impregnable fort.
It's when you begin to realise the things that you've done,
The things you've put aside, the things you've tried to hide.

This being - a weakling.
A hollow shell - a volume of empty.
All emotion - shot - you're not a human being.
A cycle - you're caught - in between.

Salvation. Plastic relief from a plastic world
of values and thoughts, replicated emancipation,
a form of artificial reanimation.
Seeking. Like a rat in a cage you wonder around,
There is no way out and you have the clue,
but a voice inside denies you the truth.
Replace. Written words that get you through,
be it ancient in age or strikingly new,
it becomes the essence of you.
Hope. Like ray of light that stills your heart,
It fills every crevice with blind faith,
You regain control and push on through.

This being - a weakling.
A hollow shell - a volume of empty.
All emotion - shot - you're not a human being.
A cycle - there's no escaping.

Haluaisitko kommentoida? Rekisteröidy käyttäjäksi tai kirjaudu sisään

Kirjaudu