These marks on my heart are too bruise so I have no patience for someone to laugh at them.
My tears are ripping through the layers of my soul so the walls are not clean for you to touch them.
Reaching out my hands, wishing love would share it's breathe on them.
Drowning but only her voice can rescue me. By: M.W. Styner, Jr.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem