Friday 21 May 2010 photo 1/1
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When I try to run ahead,
the road twists and turns
and I end right back instead,
Feeling and seeing, burning,
hurting, mourning.
Why can't the sun reach me,
sitting here enveloped in fright of the night?
I try to fly up above,
to where the stars sparkle and the sun burns.
I tend to fall out of hope,
right in the silent centre where you dance and turn.
Somewhere there is someone who listens,
but now my silent whispers seep out,
falling on non-existant ears.
You cannot hear my silent scream.
Annons
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