Sta.sh
These hands,
Worn out from the long years of before.
I find it
Harder to breathe sometimes, I suppose.
But today, for some reason,
I lay here
In my old, musty bed,
Gasping for whatever air I can find.
This mind
That was once fresh and young
Is on the verge of total insanity
And slowly, just slowly
Taking away what I thought I loved.
That mind
Made these hands
Worn.
These hands, now thin with age
Has made scratches throughout the decades.
With these hands
I have hurt
The ones I should've loved.
And with these hands
I pray with.
The same hands that I hurt with, I pray.
Please, take my already resting soul.
It is prepared to go.
I am sorry for all the hurt I have caused.
I just
Want
To
Go.
These hands then clench my chest.
My last bit of air, I suppose.
These bloodshot eyes
Slowly come to a close.
These hands then free themselves from their
Self confinement.
I can finally rest
These
Old
Hands.
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*i think you want 'i lay here' (not hear)
