Member-only story
Live like we are dying
On the rigid lines of emotional clarity,
It was your voice my darkness woke up to.
Behind many bars of unrecognizable faces,
I stood in the shelve piled with my own regrets.
Such was the survival in the worn out world,
where weapons were used to harvest human’s failure.
You were in the front line,
Kept pushing me to fight through a muddy wash-up of nightmares.
Racing beyond the famine of thoughts,
I noticed your scars were just like mine.
Those days, the tears of confession never felt so relief under the pressure of a traumatic hysteria, hallucinating a poor soul.
In the same downfall, your hands slipped from the memory that kept you alive in a scornful way.
Now your image is weary
Blaming the weakness is another way to escape understanding the fear
But you choose to pretend so you could hide…
…That feeling of Despair.
Heroes never fail but they fall.
And when I hold onto the breath that you have tried to leave behind
Just to mend your breaking soul,
You chocked yourself to survive the outcast.
