Yeah. So I was bored. :))
Secrets are stories bent and buried
Made to be forgotten.
The world can only hear the muffles of her voice
Yet drown in the tales of their dilemmas.
And it is quite unheard of that an onion will cry
Instead of the one who stole its skin
And erased its existence from the world.
Her heart shall never break its silence
And steal a place in the minds of those
Who could only think of themselves.
The words on the edge of her lips obstructed
By the voices poured inside her ear.
She'll long for gratitude
With a willingness to forget
The knowledge of a thousand rumors,
A million lies,
Each one, a regret.
And her soul could vanish into the breeze
Of the secrets only an egoistic world could tell,
Never having a moment to realize
She was a secret herself.
2007-12-26
01:37:35
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5 answers
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Anonymous
in
Arts & Humanities
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