Literature
Mute
And she shut the world away, Lost in her midnight gardens, Where only darkness can bloom... Like fishing lines strung into the depths, My bleeding hands mean nothing. It's all in the hand you were dealt. Some are never able to rise above it, Destined to fall and to fail, Oh, if only I could be; Boundless, endless, eternal... Rough hands tangled in soft hair, Seaweed stitching my lips shut, As the ocean rattles against my bones, The sea shimmering like molten gold; Calling me home.