The mixture of depression and confussion
makes me believe im not who i am.
Alone is colder and fragile in its own way
Thoughts could mean the end of me.
Tears are signs of weakness
and the voice are a sign of insanity.
Faith driven or simply forgiven my soul begs
for the unholy one.
Fallen from grace, from humanity,
from the petals that wilted away on that summer day.
Love for the rain and the stars shinging in the sky.
Mistaken for friends were the closest things coming to an end.
A need to talk but no where to walk the shower of light parades me.
Falling behind and a failure to rhyme a few simply steps to the end.
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