My pen moves describing the tales of my past,
The past which kills, the past which promises to last.
Those stabbing memories I want to forget,
But how can I see light when my sun has forever set?
And my wounds embrace me like a shroud,
They swear to never dismount.
And I, crying, hold on to my fortitude,
Because the only things which remain are pain, injuries and solitude.
~*~