• shadowofthoughts_ 21w


    I love to sit in silence,
    cause my verses will never quantify what pain is,
    Neither will your wounds heal.
    Nor will I ever be able to extract scents of forever.

    I'm a living dead.
    Sitting in silence
    I go through the things in my head.

    I won't be able to define peace,
    But the kindness of yours,
    The warmth of yours,
    And the voice of yours
    is enough to make a deal soul bloom.

    Your are like a bridge,
    connecting the shores.
    You are painting,
    Will you let me be a canvas?
    and consider my shaodws as echoes
    the dead poets painted,
    for you.