It Isn’t Me

Time after time,
line for line,
I grow weary
My patience thin
Like ice in winter
The cold pain splinters
Into my soul of glass
I grow weary
How I tire of these words
Empty, left unheard
Nay unheeded
For sake of heart beholden
I dare not chase the stars
For it only leaves bitter scars
Nay I chase the troubled moon
Still I grow weary
For the troubled moon
Does not rise at high noon
Nor does she recognise the sea
Yes weary it isn’t me…

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