1132 کے بول

An anguishing feeling of nostalgia Lingers from this creeping moment Laying in a tomb of feathers Turns into flames The crawlspace is musky But is more comforting than a living room Buried into a pillow I never want to leave Claiming the anxiety Rest in the heights above the floorboard Slapped across the face With the reality of whats to become of us Bust my head against the wall It was my only battle A sense of agony A portrait of depression Painting the blood Against this landscape Of a house we call home The summer is coming But will always have the aggression of winter Burns cement deeper into the skin Scarring an unlaced mind The pipe cinders, wasting away The only reason is to feel numb I can’t hear you Mumbling thoughts, never to understand Damned to waste away like you A testament to a broken hope