We're writers we unwrap our souls on pages just to be held at ransóm in this cold world.
These verses rythme to softern the healed wombs that still hurt.
Inside were all just kids in the grown up zone.
Truly we ourselves sometime wish to leave this earth.
Even on sunny day my dark passenger makes me rue my birth.
One day , someday I be one with the with the dirt, I just hope I gave life a run for all the money it's worth.
© spechless