The winds blow over the frozen wastelands. There is nothing
but ruin for miles. The destruction runs deep into the ground showing the sky
its layers that were never supposed to be seen. The redness of this heart is fresh,
but all this destruction that It was dealt was all my doing. I wore my heart upon
my sleeve, letting it get soaked in hot tomato soup, muddy from playing in the
rain and burnt from playing with fire. Why do I leave my soul so exposed? I tear
at the seams that are holding my heart captive upon my sleeve. Crying I rip it
from the cloths fibers and throw it back into my chest cavity. I turn my ribs
inward feeling the pain hearing the crack. But this is all for the best.
No comments:
Post a Comment