sorry
My words might be beautiful, but they are empty
Devoid of soul, devoid of feelings, a low hanging fantasy
I use it as traps, trying to catch strangers' hearts
Trying to cram those pieces into my chest, hoping mine would start
My hands are so red, I have crossed too many lines
Does my guilt absolves me? Do I still have the right to call this pain mine?
As my self-made ghosts roam around this false cemetery,
As my body sinks with the weight of the burden I chose to carry,
Can I still forgive myself before this imaginary coffin turns real?
For all the wounds I've inflicted, for all the wounds I never learned to heal.


















