To feel the pain...
I have to believe...
Being left behind...
Being by my side...
To feel the pain...
I have to believe...
My eyes are to see...
My ears are to hear...
My mouth is to speak...
My heart is to feel...
My legs are to walk...
My arms are to hug...
My hands are to touch...
My heart is to love...
Mornings are the same...
Days doesn't seem to change...
Nights are just passing by...
Feels like there's no life...
Hour's are like misery...
Minutes are so cloudy...
Seconds are just flying...
Feels like the world is dying...
To feel the pain...
I have to believe...
To shine where there's light...
I have to love my life...
To feel the pain...
I have to believe...
I have to believe...
To feel the pain...
About the Creator
Anna Christian
I grew up in Hungary in a foster home.I built my whole life on music.It always filled up a very special place in my heart, it still does, and it always will.Music always gave me strength, made me feel safe, and made me stronger as a person.
Keep reading
More stories from Anna Christian and writers in Poets and other communities.
Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.