poem

hands reach out but fall short of your grace skin tears from bone scratching at this dirt that stains with sins i cannot utter in the quiet of this madness screams sound like whispers escaping this cracked vessel longing to be heard crying to be acknowledged but falling on the deafness of those who pretend to know you i’ve been this way before and i’ve seen what these motives bring i cannot remember the last time i felt this weak i will claw my way up through tears and blood none the wiser but fashioned over time i keep circling around this mountain i know i was made to climb.

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