Trafficking souls in a world of denominational hurt. Struggling to breathe in a world where the air is thin. Denying the fantom truth from a life that doesn’t live up to the fragments they have been handed. Not able to piece together a solid frame of time. Liquifying the memories of a world that was never real. Living through a glass of illusions. Passing through to the other side. Not once did I seek the existence of a path that was meant for me to travel. Raging along the recollection of my brain to find a knowing that was divided into moments that held a vacant sky. The night no longer carries the dreams that I was promised. The day’s sun is just burning fire in my vapid heart’s desires. Drained of all my essence, I struggle to reach beyond the abyss I have fallen martyr to. Pumping my lungs full of medicinal light. Line by line I begin to read a method of a soul that no longer expresses the hope to breathe. Tragic as it can be, no one will see, all that remains are the moments that were forgotten by me.
A Crushed Soul 