A Punctured Soul

What do you look for on those empty walls?
Why don’t you turn when you hear my call?
Why bygone happy days you fail to recall?
Tell me, what demons make you feel small?

Why do you look so lonesome and cold?
The grey streaks of hair make you seem old,
Your pent-up feelings throw you out of control,
That fine spirit within which you constantly withhold.

Don’t you see any meaning in your precious life?
Why can’t you forget your earlier strife?
Oh, looking at you makes me cry,
Coz’ you live through your days half alive.

And I sit next to you, trying to console,
But your stubborn yet beautiful mind is already closed,
All my words, they just keep draining down a hole,
Oh there’s nothing more painful than a punctured soul.

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