Time seems
to be lost
in the
crevices
of our
imagination
and in the
rips and tears
of our
hearts


Moving forward
to pretend
it doesn't
hurt us,
when in reality
our mouths
become dryer
and our eyes become
heavier
with every
step


The paper
with the line
that our blue
or black ink
pens touch
bleed out
our soul
only onto
a thin piece
of
paper


Thinking to ourselves
we say,
Yes I would rather
bleed out the thoughts
in my crevices
and the tears in my
heart...


But yet no one
is by my side,
like a warrior
by themselves
standing against
an army...



I fight alone...