IstTyrr

I slip away, and the coarse strings of time cut into my fingertips as I pluck at the instruments in life’s great symphony; Wounding the harmonies and spreading discord through all the melodies I’ve so cherished. In such a way, my mouth shall close around those sounds and feed the growing silences in me until I can't scream. Then you are satisfied; when my heart ill sings of joy and all her merits.