Might have one or might not,
Feels kind of distant,
Something is off.
Wouldn't mind if a car passed me by,
If my writer has me writing unfinished lists,
Time drowning by the riverside.
People nearby seem insensitive to notice,
Whenever I gently sharpen the knife,
Promising not to slice the coat that I wear on the outside.
Yet, the voices get louder,
Worrying and emptying my soul and mind.
I hope that my life I am capable of giving,
Before darkness consumes the light.

© Written Dreammares