Nothing in its proper place and these walls become unsteady.
The birds shadow turns to insect skin between the fire lined trees. Everything ends here tonight, at the very edge of it all.
My hand shakes gently against the pen, my eyes fail to focus on the empty page and behind every noise I hear the knocking, while every whisper creeping through this room seems so loud.
I place the saddest crown on my only way of living, and head out into the night again in search of freedom and the subsidence of the pain. I gave up on turning back when I accepted that I face the dark alone.
Is there any more waiting for me, under every heavy stone, on every empty branch or is my work here almost over with ?
All the tiny ghosts gather at the foot of the hill, waiting for me to guide us back to the hole from which we came, below the shuddering, beneath the silence.
The birds shadow turns to insect skin between the fire lined trees. Everything ends here tonight, at the very edge of it all.
My hand shakes gently against the pen, my eyes fail to focus on the empty page and behind every noise I hear the knocking, while every whisper creeping through this room seems so loud.
I place the saddest crown on my only way of living, and head out into the night again in search of freedom and the subsidence of the pain. I gave up on turning back when I accepted that I face the dark alone.
Is there any more waiting for me, under every heavy stone, on every empty branch or is my work here almost over with ?
All the tiny ghosts gather at the foot of the hill, waiting for me to guide us back to the hole from which we came, below the shuddering, beneath the silence.