Everything in life is a question and I dont have the answers.
My innocence has betrayed me.
I pray to nothing that this will go away.
My dreamcatchers broken and the dreams are leaving quickly. Breaking the hollow doors to get out, quietly not making a sound.
With broken wings and shattered hope I'll try to fly but fall to the ground and wonder why.
Why do only sinners cry? Why do the nice ones get to die? Why arent they punished and left to linger in this hard life.
Life is an art and I'm all out of paint, maybe I can use some charcoal, that was a mistake.
Now life is black and grey. I fear living more then dieing, maybe because I was never taught about trying
Rachel Weaver
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-art-of-life/
