96 and 43
96 and 43
how much longer must I be
trapped inside this body, mine
going down this steep incline.
How do I expect to fly?
My heavy heart consumes the sky
with clouded thoughts and tears of ice;
my mind refused to be enticed
out of the cold and back to life,
it searches for that mental knife
to carve out of my mental chest
my heart, my lungs and all the rest.
And yet, deep down, behind the bad
remains a part that's never sad
at life and all that will remain
when I am taken from this plane.
"All I need to make me strong,"
it says, "is but a single song.
Or better yet, a single hand
to pull me from this 'never' land."
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