tears, how the stream down my face
to sit in between my lips and seep into my mouth.
Sadness is salt.
To cry, what a strange thing to do.
The tears, before they shed forth from the eyes, are atmopshperic
a wind of sorrow found in the soul.
To cry, is to have your soul bleed. Soul blood, profound and salted just as the
Theres a sea within me. And it is oh so very deep, so very sad, so very true.
and i cry and cry and i cry, but there is no use to anyone else, but i will cry
till there is a drought of tears. Till the sea within me is free,
and no longer confined to my carbon base suit.
Oh the tears stream down, as the years disintergrate into my salted existance.
And im left as rust, as my soul still in vigour, the currents stronger, the
waves more powerful.
it seems as though i will forver be sorrowful.
there will be no drought of sadness. And
each tear, a drop closer to my short becomming madness.