Poem: The Story That My Eyes Tell

The heart that I so proudly wore upon my sleeve begs for me to shield it from chaos.

And listen, I do.
For every scar, and every bruise tells me I must.

I lay trembling under my pasted radiance into the ends of the night.
And with a glorious smile and a hearty laugh, I tell the story that I wish for you to see.

I sing, and I write,
I speak, and I fight.
I seek ways to ease my plight.

But even as I scramble to purge myself of this uneasiness, it finds a way to cling to my consciousness.
And with every thought, my mind bleeds me dry.
It races me to my sanity, and run, I do, aimlessly across the skeletons of my past.

But these eyes, are windows to the storm inside.
These eyes, tell a tale as old as time, one that the world may always remain blind to.
So I curse their unfortunate honesty and keep them shut for as long as I possibly can.

For if I open them,
you may see the gray, the black and the blue,
you may read the indecipherable words that make up the weight of my world,
you may hear the winds of my wallows bellowing in agony.

I must catch my breath, hold the sound of this wavering silence in my trembling hands before it slips through my fingers.
Too long I have crowded my mind with the songs of my pain.

But although my trials are ironically endless, I accept my tainted and tattered fate, as once again, the day must come to its close. And after my sun finally sets, I still know that I will wake up tomorrow, and begin a new beginning.

So I hope and I pray,
To a god I say,
Do not let me forget this.

This last shred of hope is all that I have left.
And if lost, I do not know if I can survive it again.

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