I should get some rest.
Should I have slept earlier.
Sounds turned mute these days.
And the air silent as well.
I have been so dreaded,
even the caves feel better.
I crashed my wings into the hatred
of love , of affection. My skin starting to
rip off me, carved by the lies.
I won't think of us, of you.
Thinking of it would let me poision myself
with life. When I run out of air,
I will let it escape, let it go.
'Cause speaking of you won't
let it slip through my throat.
I won't write, anymore.
'Cause words heal, And I don't need healing.
I should sleep. I should get some rest.