Winding is blowing the trees down south.
Telling the story that we have all talked about.
Hiding the fact of the pain it holds.
Listening to the sorrow that only a few knows.
Wondering when its turn will be.
Not knowing that place or the destiny.
Just knowing the feeling of something that cannot be told.
Working with other to give strength that it will never receive.
Walking the path that is never common.
Always there to lend rest when in need.
The secrets that are going to the place that no one knows.
The place where only lovers go.
The place where sorrow is home.
The trees down south have a story to be told.
Why am I here?
Why do I keep doing the same thing over and over again?
Do I like pain?
Do I like to be hurt?
It seems so, that is all I am getting.
Yet, I can not leave.
I stay and take the pain until I drop down to my knees.
I used to cry, but my river of tears has dried up long ago.
I am just numb.
To live you must be willing to give, and I have given all I can.
I pray for better days, and they never seem to come.
Or do they, and I am just too afraid to take that leap.
This world is so unkind, and my mind makes it harder for me to be free.
I live a life that is not worth living,
Yet everyday I get up and try again.
One day I must stop and start believing in me.
Right now, I cannot see that day.
It seems too far away.
I will keep looking, but for how long I do not know for how long.
My soul is draining, I am losing this battle.
I hate to lose, but this is one fight that I know longer have the strength to give.