I was so mixed up in my emotions when I wrote this. So sorry if it seems a bit messed up.
The script of life,
Has no words,
Just blank pages sitting in dust,
So why do we stare,
Like it's going to tell us something?
The metal spiral binds our life,
As all our sins we make,
Seem to write themselves,
Permenant to the pages,
As we continue our days.
And as we go back into our past,
We see the tears dried into our life,
And we always tend to find,
Pictures of the ones we left,
With a letter written from them.
The script of life,
Holds the smudges of our tears,
And holds the permenant pages of our past,
And the ones we loved and lost,
But it doesn't tell us the words,
To make it better when it turns for the worse,
It doesn't tell us the roads to take,
Nor the people to meet,
But where's the words I need to hear,
When I break back down again?
