Stitches of Melody

Stitches of Melody

Fallen straight out of the sky,
Every night you could hear me whisper,
Hymns of agony and self doubt,
They say a voice like God,
But not as loud,
Alone and dead with no one around,
In the depths of hell,
I was found,
Wings torn in two, dead on the floor,
I cannot seem to fly at all,
With a heart ripped opened,
and tears like dust,
It's very clear,
That surgery is a must.

The needle guides the suture in its place,
Stitching this heart that has seen the face,
Of vanity and broken dreams,
Though the memories are faded,
Just as the words,
The edge of a blade has stated.

You watch me through the open doors,
Of the room in which this body,
That is drowning in anesthetics,
Lies stone cold on a table,
Of endless pain and addiction,
Feeding on cut open hearts,
And thinking too many happy thoughts,
Killed my soul made of gold,
So the beat stops.

Harmony rushing through my veins,
Spewing out onto the sheet,
Inexplicable writings,
Dreams of peace,
Paintings of gold,
That hold the breathtaking truth,
The reason why I fell and why I died,
Why I broke my own wings,
Handed out the coal black feathers,
To all of the people in need of serenity.

The psychosomatic life,
Of I, the one who couldn't fly,
Though the stitches,
Keep me intact,
Into the flesh and off of a neck,
An instrument of emotion,
Allowing my lungs to move,
In-taking the melodies that flow so gently,
Inhaling the notions,
Of being free again

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