Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

It gets dark, 
 Not because of the night, 
  My thoughts carry me through wars.

I drown inside but my face keeps its fake smile, 
I kneel in front of the pain and let it in...  
 It snows in the spring,
  The white covers the greens.

I feel like my hands are made of stone, cold, 
I can't move them the way I want, 
I can't control them...

You used to warm my fingers 
 And my heart once; 
 With your touch, with your love, 
 With your breath.