My Story Is Wounded

My story is wounded was never bleeding,
I lost my key of confidence and happiness,
I unlock with no key the door of depression.

My mirror didn't recognize myself anymore,
I shared a laughter, face with her crying eyes,
I took my eyes away, she broke in little pieces.

My mind can't help me finding the answers,
I went to the riskiest bridge of death by myself,
I failed and didn't die, but I died of my endless griefs.

My soul was the purest soul to get into the heaven,
The Angels were speechless of touching my cold hands,
With my lips never been kissed, but with sleepless eyes.

My hands forced me to stop writing with a light of the candle,
Nobody knows that candle was always my best friend,
She felt my pain, and witnessed my midnight moaning.

18/02/2015