My Bed Is My Coffin
The weight of my sadness pulls on my heart the iron chains of my thoughts restrain me to my hatred
every movement feels like carrying the earth on my fingertips it drains me of all hope and light leaving only the shell of what once was a happy little girl
skipping through feels of cotton now passing through different levels of hell only to find that what she had been searching for was hers all along
the draught of her mind makes the painting dry up and makes the summer leaves shrivel and die only to be crunched by the crushing weight of a human
like a wave of anger and what will be a board to float on if only the universe would grant it