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Yes I am broken, but I am not defeated. I am like a salmon breaking through the surface of the water in order to fight the current. I am a glow stick breaking in the hands of a child on a summer evening, spreading my light.
I am my own Alice seeking a non-existent wonderland, I am a butterfly fluttering about in a flowerless field, I am a pen deprived of the badly needed ink,
I am not a poet. You are not a poet. I am a lost soul with an imagination that demands to be seen. You are a creature looking for words that fill your aching void with a sense of belonging.
Bumble melts off of the lips like the honey we steal. Origins are unimportant when we have the hum of corporate in our ears. Mounds of guilt collect like wax combs. But we care not, as long as we get what we want.
When I was younger, I used
sometimes you wake up and you're hollow your whole body feels like a hole waiting to be filled with something but nothing satisfies so you lie back and stare at the ceiling
Giving love to a hollow heart Is like dropping a coin into a well In hopes of making a wish But never hearing it hit the bottom No splash in the water No thud against bricks Just a feeling of dread
She looks up at the clouded sun For the thousandth time today Feels the worlds ambience around her
Hollow is the heart inside my chest,so still- it beats.It aches,with unquenchable desire,pounding slowly, slowly, slowly.
I'll push my heart into hiding. Let it be smothered and suffocated, until it becomes a pearl. The only thing that's shining in the hollow remains of a girl. Being numb felt much better than I could've imagined.
Hollow. Inside the mind inside the soul, lies a lonely heart,so weary and cold. She mourns, she roars, shes nothing but that girl. Blood running through her veins like the fire blazing sun, but tears as deep as the ocean.
Dig away from all the dissappointment I get lonley in caves all by myself. Thoughts lose everything all in the moment, Scraping nails upon walls, all blood runs high.
O' Thy sweet hollow tree Kind, wild and free Some describing generation Protecting us from invasion Others not knowing the occasion With their long and lengthy arms They are usually standing on farms.
What become of the Beauty gone astray?What happens to those who have no time to play?No one sees the Silent agony,and if they could,what would they really see?
With empty verses, I've become a forlorn song, my melody gone.