Stained with unnecessary experience
Haunting memories barren of melodies I can whistle to
Its like the ink just spills. Splashes of my agonizing self
Of a self so strained. So suffocated all that I breath chocks me
The hands already set on motion never stop telling
Even in the absence of words the story oozes from deep down inside
Where soul fights the spirit
The collision felt in the aftermath It creates
Nightmares, fears; desperations way down to concupiscences there in
The hand telling it all words in best order
Scribing down the memories, vows and curses
Its like having had no one to understand you better so you let the words hold it all
Accurate words, to be precise, trusted to tank the memories.
I just hope that when the dust is settled and the vision is clear
When this doom shall stoop for some light I word as hope
I just pray these sylabbles will speak to me Of what it took to mould me
I call it a hands that write for the unspoken whispers


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