Lost In A Story Of Personal Vengeance With Oneself A lot of us are broken, A lot of us leave in fear For gratitude we hold no token, We run scared from things that never really appear. They twist the kinded soul Like gusts of wind from kindred spirits Resembling thorny pieces of charcoal They fall with darkness and no merits. Never again will they ever regain The great white-headed beauty they once held Only because they can not retain The Power they had.. for now it is jailed In their prison of hatred, doom and anxiety So when they smile at you, you feel they are dead You cry in lonely revery for their striking dread Swearing upon an ice-cold star that you will seek propriety
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