The happy soul
The happiest souls have the deepest scars.
They are the ones, who cheer you up.
They are the ones, who laugh their hearts out.
Cause they know, when night comes, and with it the scuffle of solitude,
The wounds of the past will be gouged again, with the pangs of despair, making the skin an intolerable abode.
As the burden of pertrubing thoughts, press against the wounds,
Giving them an agonizing squeeze.
Transperent blood pluments from the eyes,
The happiness of the soul has now been Ceased.