I



I write for
My soul has become empty
From lack of truth.

I sing
But my voice is cracked,-
From cries of despair.

I stand
In the midst of friends,
Whose intentions can't be trusted.

I dance
To the rhythm of sorrow,
For that the only sound that plays
In my subconsciousness .

I search
For a new type of pain,
For my soul has adapted to hurt.

Yorubaseeker

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