The art of silence is to be learned my everyone who has no one to fall apart with.
No one to trust.
As the pain overcomes and takes it's toll, the tears start to roll, the victim begins to take their role, all the anger and sadness dies quiet as a monster whispers inside your head and no sound comes out.
What is the point?
In this world we live when the ones with hands died red get sympathy and the ones with red soaked clothes get left in the dust.
We will all rust together in the end, so let's hope this world starts to listen to facts, instead of the victim in their head.
YOU ARE READING
Poems of a mended artist.
Poetrythis will be a part two to my other set of poems. please read them but they are not needed to understand these. These will be much sadder than my original ones usually.
