|
Post by twistedangel on Jul 13, 2017 6:21:48 GMT -5
Tongue forms words Hollow their echoes To me own ear
Paying lip servuce to pleasantries Eroded empathy Or unfamiliar concepts
To wrapped in self centered pain Ever striving to give That which i don't possess
Wos writing me own 'Yellow brick road' Yet if all feelings are of self Then wot room for another?
Wizards are but smoke an mirrors Refelcting me unworthiness Images of withered heart
|
|